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^^ J. It ^ \

RICHARD WAGNER

MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Mathilde Wesendonck

I860
From a Painting by C. Doiaer.

Richard Wagner to

Mathilde W

esenaonc

TBANSLATED. PF
she declares herself a thorough revolutionary. — Thus it is ever
the ladies that have their hearts in the right place in my regard,
whereas I am almost compelled to give men up as lost already "^
(to Uhlig). — May 3 : " The Hollander's impression on my public
was most unusual, deep and earnest. Naturally, the ladies were
to the fore again " (to U.) ; 29th, " With all the ladies I have
won a mighty feather in my cap" (to L.); and 31st, "Julie

[nte Ritter] is in the country with us here ; K[ummer, her husband] is

at the baths. — ^Julie seems to have taken a great fancy to me ; at
any rate she implicitly follows my word " (to U.). — July 15, "There
are splendid women here in the Oberland, but only to the eye;
they're eaten up with raging vulgarity" (to U.). — Sept. 12: "My
personal affairs are shaping fairly pleasantly [Tannh. fees coming in], but
alas ! I'm much alone ; I lack all satisfying company " (to Roeckel) ;
27th, "If I could only come to an agreeable rest: yesterday a
young woman [perhaps a fortune-teller?] told me 7vhai would cure
me ; she was very bold, and was right ! Good Lord, what a
silly fool I am, to be such a squeamish beast! But that's the
way I'm built ! " (to U.). — Nov. 9, " I am living an inexpressibly
good-for-nothing life ! Of actual enjoyment of life I know sheer
nothing : for me the * taste of life, of love ' is simply a matter of
the imagination, not of experience. ... If I could visit you at
Weimar, perhaps I might hope to recover, . . . perhaps a word
of love might sound from here or there — but here?? Here I
must perish in the very briefest space, and everything will come

published by the same journal in 1883. Making allowance for an obvious
inaccuracy here and there, v. Homstein's vindication of Wagner is the
more valuable as it was written in 1884 and he confesses to having
ceased to be on friendly terms about twenty years previously. Unfor-
tunately the "AuszQge/' or excerpts, give no dates, though these are
easy to furnish on other internal evidence.

INTRODUCTORY xlvii

too late— too late. Tis so ! " (to Liszt).— N.B., Theodor Uhlig,
Wagner's favourite disciple, died in Dresden this Christmas. —
1853 : the year the two families first became more intimate : —
May 30 (re the famous three Zurich concerts, consisting of
extracts firom the Hollander^ Tannhduser and Lohengrin) : " Indeed
it was a festival for the little world around me ; the ladies were
all in my favour " (to Liszt). — June 8 : " I might say I am living
fairly pleasantly now pn the new flat] if — I were anybody else ! It
is not only that I am bound to feel the dishonourableness of the
world in general more acutely than many another does ; but everi
as regards my own personal life I'm bound to admit to myself
more candidly each day that it is only in the last few years
\cf. Jan. 1854] I've grown aware — too late ! — ^that I strictly have not
lived at all yet ! . . . My art is becoming more and more the
lay of the blinded yearning nightingale, and this art would
suddenly lose all its reason if I could but clasp the actuality of
life. Ay, just where Life stops, there does Art begin; from
youth up we stumble into art sans knowing how, and only when
we have forged through art to its very end, do we discover to our
lamentation that 'tis just this life we lack. . . . O yes, there's one
thing might console me: — not only am I wondered at, but also
loved; where criticism ceases, love steps in, and a number of
hearts has it drawn near me. Yet that sort of love cannot but still
remain far ofif me \ it enters my life most indirectly, and — the way
this life of mine has shaped — it is only as into dimmest distance
I can look into that realm of love. Could I become a proper
egoist, things would be easier; but as it is, it can't be helped,
and — like yourself — only through resignation can I at least main-
tain myself in the truth of my nature " (to Roeckel in prison). —
Dec. 29: "When composing \Rheingold'\ I generally undertake
too much, and drive my wife to justifiable wrath by keeping
dinner waiting ; so that it is in the sweetest of humours I enter
the second half of the day, with which I don't at all know what
to do : solitary walks in the mist ; sundry evenings at Wesendonck's.
It is there I still obtain my only stimulation ; the graceful lady
stays loyal and attached to me, though there also remains much
in this society that can but torture me" (to elderly Frau Ritter
of Dresden). — One might place the commencement of the reading-
lessons somewhere about here, with a good deal of pianoforte

xlviii INTRODUCTORY

demonstration, as we know, including fragments from the growing
Hheingold,

1864. — ^Jan. 25-26 (the famous homily to Roeckel) : " Whatever
a man cannot love, stays beyond him, and he beyond it; here
the philosopher may flatter himself he comprehends, but not the
truthful human being. Well, in its fullest reality, love is only
possible between the sexes : only as man and woman can we human
beings love most really, whereas all other kdnds of love are but derived
from this . . . [and so on, for pages] . . . * I ' and the world, means
nothing more than 'I' alone; to 'me' the world becomes a full
reality but when it has become a * thou * ; and it becomes that only
in the apparition of the loved individual. . . . Enough ! I venture
to send you these confessions of faith without fear of rousing
trouble for you, in your solitude, through a sharing of my views.
Not only you, but I myself — as all of us — live at present in con-
ditions and relations which point to none but surrogates or
makeshifts ; for you, no less than for myself, truest, realest life can
only be a thing of thought, of wish. I had become 36 years old
ere I guessed the actual drift of my artistic impulse * ; so long

* Wagner became "36" on the 22nd of May 1849, so that — unless
the ''6" be a misprinted 9 — the said epoch would fall within his first
year of exile ; which confronts us with the never yet unriddled *' Bordeaux
episode" of March 1850. Ferdinand Praeger, who invariably embroiders
what he does not invent, tells the story thus: "Feeling naught
•congenial to him in Paris, he left again for Zurich, via Bordeaux and
Geneva \such a short cut]. At Bordeaux an episode occurred similar [?]
to one which happened later at Zurich, about which the press of the
day [?1] made a good deal of unnecessary commotion and ungenerous
comment. I mention the incident to show the man as he was. The
Opposition have not spared his failings, and over the Zurich incident

were hypercritically censorious [it was not so much as known to any but a private

■circle before this wretched book of P.'s]. The Bordeaux story I am alluding

to, is, that the wife of a friend, Mrs. H ^ having followed Wagner

to the south, called on him at his hotel, and throwing herself at his
feet, passionately told of her affection. Wagner's action in the matter
was to telegraph to the husband to come and take his wife home.
On telling me the story, Wagner jocosely remarked that poor Beethoven,
so full of love, never had his affection returned, and lived and died,
«o it is said, a hermit" {Wagner as I knew him pp. 196-7). And that
was published by a respectable London and New York firm during the
lifetime of both the ladies mentioned, a few months after its author's

INTRODUCTORY xlix

had Art found credence with me as the end, and Life the means.
But the discovery, it is true, had come too late, and none but
tragical experiences could respond to my new instinct of life.
Moreover, a wider glance into the world shews Love itself impossible
now. . . . Not one of us will see the Promised Land ; we all shall
perish in the wilderness ... in the happiest event we must be*
come martyrs. . . Now I can do nothing else than go on existing
as artist : all the rest— since I can embrace Life, Love, no more
— either disgusts me, or interests me solely insofar as it bears upon
Art. Tis an agonising life, to be sure; still, 'tis the only life
possible." — What does that reveal to us,* but a man distraught

own decease! Seeing that Frau Wesendonck was openly named loo
pages after, in course of further insolences regarding "the Zurich
incident*'; seeing also that a German edition was promised for speedy
appearance (also a French, but the German publisher's withdrawal
knocked that on the head) — the reader will not be astonished at my
warning that lady at once about the slander. That there was something
in the "Bordeaux story," quite unconnected with herself, is proved by
her reply (see facsimile), but Praeger's version is so little to be credited
that he does not even believe it himself: the "English" edition says
" At Bordeaux an episode occurred " etc., implying that " the husband "
was telegraphed-for from there; the German edition, professedly ** trans-
lated" by himself, says in the usual Praeger fashion, **At Bordeaux
he visited a married couple .... and when he resumed his journey, she
followed him and found him at a hotel en route. . . . but Wagner
telegraphed to the husband to come and fetch his wife back." After
that, one cannot trust a single word of the details ; but the very possession
of the story, in any shape, points either to a still graver breach of
confidence than is self-admitted (namely to garbled divulgence of Wagner's
closely guarded Memoirs), or to something far more likely in this instance,,
an unbosoming by the " solitary, heroic Minna ** — with whom the tattler
made great friends during his fortnight at the Asyl in summer 1857
(of course he persistently dates it " 1856 *'). The latter supposition,,
coupled with P.'s soup-brewing tendencies, would account for the im-
possible suggestion (Engl, ed.) that the Bordeaux lady was Emilie Heim,
— ^who with her husband first came to Zurich in 1852. Whatever the
right or the wrong of the story may some day prove to be, there is
not the smallest probability of Richard Wagner's having betrayed
it to so garrulous an acquaintance, and never in this world "jocosely," —
see *' tragical experiences" above.

* There is no directer personal allusion in the letter. Incidentally
it should be remarked that, apart from all despondence caused by
a Leipzig Lohengrin fiasco, the acuteness of the present psychologic

1 INTRODUCTORY

with love, driven almost to despair by its apparent hopelessness?
Resignation has yet to come, though only just below the offing,
as we shall descry in an instant ; consciousness of being loved in
return is many, many a league away.

April 9, '54 : " Ah dearest, dearest, onlyest Franz ! Give me
a heart, a mind, a feminine soul, in which I might wholly merge
myself, that would embrace the whole of me, — ^how little should
I ask of this world ! . . . But I'm wool-gathering again ! Send
me to the right-about, as I deserve; — ^nobody will ever make
anything of me but a fantastic idiot ! " (to Liszt). — ^June : " Seek
me no copyist; Mad. Wesendonck has presented me with a gold
pen — of indestructible writing-power [cf. page 152 ifrf.'\ — ^which is
turning me into a caligraphic pedant again. These scores will be
my most consummate masterpiece of penmanship : one can't
escape one's destiny " (to L.) ; his saving gift of humour, so often
coming to the rescue, has stood him in good stead once more.
But that gift will not forever stay his tears, as is shewn by the
following reminiscence of von Hornstein's, who first met him at
the zenith of the Zurich festival in '53, and now runs over from
Lausanne for a wild-goose concert chase at Sion {Life iv, 365-70)
and its sequel at Karl Ritter's bridal home near Chillon : '' Several
times was Wagner overcome by yearning for the talented and
beautiful Frau Wesendonck, for whom he had conceived a
passionate regard; the refined lady accepted the artist's homage
without compromising herself in the smallest degree. Once we
surprised him, sitting in the garden, with tears in his eyes. Apart
from such attacks of weakness, he was cheerful, amiable, full of
intellectual talk." Later in July, Wagner invites Liszt to Zurich,
" Come, if you can, in the second half of August ; the Wesen-
doncks will be back by then, I think" (as Liszt was unable to
come, he cannot have met them till autumn '56).

Then the Walkure music is taken seriously in hand, some of
it under the eyes of von Homstein, who has come to Zurich for
a while and tells us, evidently of September : " In the presence
of Ritter, Wesendoncks, Heim and myself, he sang and played
the whole first act. Frau Heim, a capital singer, supported him ;

crisis itself accounts for the strangely inconsequential 'explanation' of
the Ring-poem contained in this, the favourite epistle of the modern
axe^ ^LA^*t>^ // r me>

y ^f^

^ r,'- . ^ -^ ^

^ '//f^fi^, /fe/ ^^^-^^ .^fe>7

ZURICH

1852 TO AUGUST 1858

5t 9e 9e

HeiT and Madame Wesendonck are most kindly re-
quested to join us on Sunday at dinner-time.
RS. V.P.

Familie Wagner.

Busy in the kitchen, my wife advises you to take the
carriage, which you would probably have made use of even
had the weather been fine ; further, that it will be ex-
traordinarily warm in our abode.

All which is to signify that we have no intention to give
you up yet

Many thanks for the kind invitation, which I unfortu-
nately shall be unable to obey.
Fare you well !

Esteemed Lady !

God will guard you henceforth from my rudenesses ;
for you certainly perceive by now that it was no idle whim
of mine when I often dreaded accepting your kind invitations
lest my nasty temper might torture my good friends as much
as it torments myself If in the future, also, I become more
abstinent in this regard — and ought I not to end by being
so, after experiences like those of yesterday? — rest assured
that it is simply to earn your pardon through presenting
myself to you in a better light.

4 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

I hope to hear from your husband to-morrow at Basle
that at least your precious health has suffered no ulterior
harm through my unruly tongue * With this heartfelt wish
your kind indulgence is besought by

Richard Wagner,

Zurich, March 17, 1853.

[Easter 1853.]
Fairest good-day!

My poor wife has become quite ill ; consequently I accept
to-morrow's invitation for myself alone.

Presumably you are not at home to-day ; otherwise I
should have inquired toward evening.

At my house everything is dull and dismal, despite the
growing ** gaiety " of the apartments.

1 hope things are going right well with you, and that you

iire keeping Easter-day [March 27] with joy.

Many kind regards to all 1

Your

R. W.

Friday morning.

The Herweghs have invited themselves for this evening.

If you think it would help you to recover from the
exertion^ of your last invitations, it would much delight us
if you consented to take part in our entertainment

Kindest regards.

R. W.

Here's syrup, for yesterday's ice.f

[May 29, 1853.]

♦ A clue to the above may be found in Letter 95. — Tr.
t Accompanying a few bars of a polka, whereon stands the date.
[Cf. Ufe of R. WagntfT, iv. 132.— Tr.]

ZURICH LETTERS 5

■ 8.

Esteemed !

You gave me permission to inquire to-cfay whether

you would be able to come to us again this evening. In

case of a favourable answer, I would suggest your passing

a couple of quiet hours with us till lo o'clock : I would

invite nobody els^, not to spoil this sacred evening in

any way.

Hoping for a kind consent,

Your

Richard Wagner.
June I, 1853.

[To Herr OUo.]

Your disposals are excellent, best friend : I thank

you for them from my heart.

To enter my fresh indebtedness in a manner worthy to

arouse your confidence, I am paying an old debt to-day : *

please give your wife the accompanying sonata, my first

composition since the completion of Lohengrin (six years

back !).

You soon shall hear from me again : but first send us

news how you're faring yourselves.

Your

Richard Wagner

Zurich, June 20, 1853.

10.

The best of good-mornings I
Getting on pretty well. — Sincerest thanks for all kind-

^ As is to be gathered from a fragment dated June 11, published in the
LeUers to O. IVesendonckf Herr Otto had just advanced a sum of money.
The " composition " is that afterwards issued as '* Album Sonata** (see
Lt/e, ir. 131 and 448). — Tr.

6 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

ness! — I propose going proudly on foot to the rehearsal
If it must be, however, I accept tne carriage for X to 2.
You would follow soon after.

I meant to send the accompanying yesterday 1

Auf Wiedersehen !

11.

The best of good-mornings !

Just skim a little of this book [A.Schmid'sbiographyofGtuck,i8sa].

It is badly written, and one is compelled to skip all where
the author thinks anywise needful to trot out an opinion
of his own ; yet the facts, particularly from Gluck's Paris
period, are highly interesting ; moreover, this passionate,
yet entirely self-centred Gluck, with his calm vanity, large
savings, and embroidered court-dress, has something quite
amusing and refreshing about him in his old age. —
Only, make a big skip at the beginning.

12.

Homer was stealing out of my library.

Whither ? I asked.

He replied : To congratulate Otto Wesendonck on his

birthday.

I answered : Do*t for me, as well 1

Richard W.
March 16, 1854.

18.

With the present weather-outlook and west winds, will

you be travelling?

Merely a question.*

Your

R. W.

* A joint excursion to Glarus, Stachelberg, and the Muotta-Thal had
been arranged. [Footnotes unsigned are the Gennan editor's. — Tr.]

ZURICH UTTERS

14.

Is it necessary to remark that my question of yesterday,

touching a trip to-day, requires no answer ?

R. W.

15.

As Herr and Madame Wesendonck seem to have
abandoned that footing of intimacy whereon they would
drop in on us of an evening uninvited, I suppose we must
ceremoniously inquire whether they perhaps could deign to
take us unawares to-day, or — in case certain Professors have
been given this day for imparting their learning to the
gentleman and lady — whether we might expect a similar
surprise to-morrow?

le.

My Lady !
Frau Heim cannot sing before Tuesday,* — ^so for to-
morrow (if show you must have) a simple piano-evening.

I shall see you soon !

Your

R. W.

17.

What should I do to cheer you up — poor invalid ? I
gave the programme [Philh.] with the translations to
Eschenburg [professor of English at Zurich] : but how shall that profit

* At the Zurich Subscription Concert of Tuesday, January 23, 1855,
when Frau Heim sang songs by Schubert, and Wagner conducted
Mozart*s Zauberfldte overture, Beethoven's C minor s]rmphony, and his
oivn revised Faust overture? — Tr.

8 WAGNER TO ISATHILDE WESENDONCK

you ? Otto must at once procure you " Indian Legends
edited by Adolf Holtzmann, Stuttgart." I brought them
to London with . me : their reading has been my only
pleasure here. All are beautiful : but — Sawitri is divine,
and if you wish to find out my religion, read Usinar. How
shamed stands our whole Culture by these purest revelations
of noblest humanity in the ancient East ! —

At present I'm reading a canto of Dante every morning
ere I set to work : I'm still stuck deep in Hell ; its horrors
accompany my prosecution of the second act of Walkiire.
Fricka has just gone off, and Wodan must now give vent
to his terrible woe.

Beyond this second act I shall in no case get here ; I
can work but very slowly, and each day brings some fresh
upset to contend with. —

My London experiences are determining me to withdraw
from public music-making altogether, for some years to
come : this concert-conducting must have an end. So don't
let our Zurich gentry put themselves to any expense on
my account ! I now need total inner equilibrium, to com-
plete my big work ; for which, as a grotesque chimera, I fear
this eternal outrageous contact with the inadequate and
insufficient might easily put me out of sorts.

— To enliven yourself, just reckon up how many fugues
ought to appear in my London oratorio, whether • ♦ ♦ ♦ •
should wear white or black kid-gloves, and if the Magdalene
should carry a bouquet or fan. When you have settled these
important points, we'll go into it farther.

To-day is my fourth concert : the A major symphony
(which at any rate will not go anything like so well as at
Zurich), and with it a number of lovely things I never dreamt
of having to conduct again in my life. However, I'm fortified
for it all by the certainty that this — will have been the last
time. —

HX^JCH LETTERS 9

Best wishes to Otto, whom I heartily thank for his last
kind letter : if it really amuses him, I'll write him once more.
Is Marie [sister of FVau Wk] not coming to you soon ? —

To-morrow, after the concert, I shall write ray wife : she
won't have any mighty news to give you, though.

Kind love to Myrrha too [the Wesendoncks' little girl]! Farewell,,
and — keep your spirits up!
London, April 30, 1855.

18.

QuiyS. 1855.]

I fear my good old faithful friend — my Peps — will pass
away from me to-day. It is impossible for me to leave the
poor thing's side in its last hours. You won't be cross with
us, if we beg you to dine without ourselves to-day? In
any case we shall not leave [for Seelisberg] till Wednesday r
so that we can still make up for what we miss to-day.

You surely will not laugh if I am weeping ?

Your

R. W,

Sunday morning.

19.

[September 1855?]

I am not well, and presumably shall have to keep my
wife's birthday [Sept 5] a prisoner to the house.
Cordial thanks for your kindness 1

Take notice : —

Wednesday : Othello \i

Ira Aldridge.*
Tickets should be booked in good time.

(The top of the morning !)
^ R. W.

* "The African Roscius*' (1805-66);

lO WAGNER TO BSATHILDE WESENDONCK

21,

If the Familie Wesendonck will give Heinrich of the Hotel

Baur that errand, they can obtain my wife from the theatre

too ; otherwise they must put up with my single self.

By the way, I, too, know English.

R. W.

Dear Friend,

My wife has just tdd me a happy thought of hers,
which leads me to address you quite a big petition.

It is a matter of making one more effort to obtain a life-
lease of the Bodmer property at Seefeld, near Zurich. Were
it to succeed, I should be relieved of all cares about an
■estate of my own, and for a mere rent I should arrive at the
same enjoyment I am seeking. This place is let at present
as a summer residence to a family by the name of Triimpler ;
so that the Bodmers would have to be persuaded to give
these ancient tenants friendly notice and let me have the
place for life, or perhaps for a term of ten years.

So far as we know, it is rather a habit than a requirement
•of the Trumplers, to occupy the Bodmer place, and if the
Bodmers themselves were glad to let us have it, I have no
•doubt they would find no difficulty in inducing the Triimplers
to stand back. Therefore it is merely a question of winning
the Bodmers to my wish in earnest ; and my wife, whom I
have commissioned to make overtures to Frau Bodmer,
desires the help of a third person who should tell that lady
all the ingratiating things which neither she nor I can say :
and to act as that third person, honoured friend, my wife
-considers nobody more fitted than yourself. So the heartfelt
prayer goes up to you, to write Frau Bodmer and try to win
her to my part. For that — my wife thinks — it might be
advisable if you laid stress on my great want and need of

ZURICH LETTERS 11

such a quiet country home as her estate afTords ; perhaps

also— so thinks my wife — if you pricked the lady's pride a

little, and pointed out to her the honour it might conceivably

bring her, to have her premises supply me with a fostering

haven for my future art-creations. —

What do you say to it ? Will you undertake it ? —

On my approaching return to Zurich I should very much

like to see this affair, which exercises me so urgently now,

brought so far for\vard that I might t«ike a swift decision.*

Need I say how much it would please me to be able to

bid good-day to you as well [as Otto] at Berne ?

Many hearty gfreetings from

Your

Richard Wagner.
Mornex, August ii, 1856.

[September (?) 1856.]
Most faithful of all Protectresses
of the Arts !
My sister [Clara Wolfram] is obliged to keep her bed : if
you are not a victim to the same necessity, I beg you to dis-
pose of the vacant cover, or else to save it (something of a
consideration in these hard times, with the silk-crop failure !).
In the former event I would propose (without dictating)

Boohm. — ^t

Your

R, W.

* It came to nothing, for Wagner writes Herr Otto three weeks later :
** Here you have the B/s letter back ; please give your dear wife my best
thanks again for her attempt at intervention. — Once more I feel much and
deeply humbled," etc.— Tr.

t Wilbelm Baumgartner. Frau Wesendonck adds a note concerning " a
beautiful poem " delivered by Gottfried Keller at the Schweiz. Mustkfest,
1867, in memory of B.'s then recent death. She further explains that she
had warmly defended Rheingold and WalkUre against Minna's admoni-
tion to return to the style of Rienzi.

li WAGNER TO MATHILDE WBSENDONCK

. The house is about my ears, through your speaking
disrespectfully of Rienzi yesterday ! —

84.

[Autumn 1856?]

Would it entertain you, perhaps, to see what ray Weimar
Councillor has brewed about my poem?

Various hints which I had given him are strewn with
marvellous fidelity amid his own gallimathias ; which makes
the thing fairly amusing,*

Much satisfaction is wished you by

Your much dissatisfied

R. W^

25.

happy swallow, wouldst be mating.

Thyself thou build'st thy brood a nest ;
In quest of quiet for creating,

1 cannot build my house of rest !

The peaceful home of stone and pine —
What swallow'il build that nest of mine ?

26.

All in order. Will you be coming over for the last act
of the Walkiire ?

I — ^hope so. —

[May 8, 1857, evidently referring to a matter of some two
tnontlts previously^ Wagner tells Liszt of a private rendering

* Liszti August I, 1856 : " Franz MQIler will visit you at Moraex llie
middle of this month, and bring you his work on the Nibelungen.'^
Wagner finished his Momex 'cure' Aug. 17, met Otto at Berne on the
1 8th, and returned to Zurich next day; where he not only found his
sister Clara, but also that his '' Weimar Regierungsrath and red-hot en-
thusiast had arrived, bringing novelties foretold by Liszt." Clearly, then,
our no. 24 refers to an ensuing MS. revision, for MQller*s Ring-^noxik was
not published until six years later. — Tr.

ZURICH LETTERS I ;

. / " the big last scene /n^m * Die Jf\i/.(;//r ' " rv/tA Fmu I \ !::ri
> BnhniJiilde, himself as Wotan^ and Th. Kin/ /wr ti.* '/. -
:tif'(inisl : " JfV did it three tin:^: itt iny rcmh'*!' i.e A/:

/'^iiu'et," jltitj Jroffi ichith he viozrd out the tni'idlc oj Apnl ,
''€/*, Iviii sup. — Tr,'\

27.

Herewith the music-journal* and a !ct*.r of Princess
ittgenstcin's, which please return ti) nie \\':'\. rv id.

I am to give you my vs:1l> I^, .t wibhes.

R. VV.

88,

M \y 2\ 57.

I have naught to say to tl.e f tthcr (^f my c^ i:!it! v : IT he
're to presume to call u;>v)n mtt \\\ my -x^m! .. s-r.e-t, 1
M.uld shew him the door. His clKits aic \\\\\m .m ,1 S't*^!';
• w for Baur.f —

The Muse is bcginnin;.j to vi^it mc : c!(>c-> ii 1>. t kei« ihc
• rtainty of your visit? The int tiling I f»ui:'.i . a-^ a
.•U)dy which I didn't at all kn^jw w h.U to do with, tili of
-addcn the words from the Ki.st scene ^♦f v^i^-i/fricd ramc
• ) my head. A good om'.n. Vc>t' rviay I also lit on the
rumcnccment of act 2 — as Frifner's R^-st; whirh jias an
Tjcnt of humour in it. But Vt/U shill hear rt!l about it,

the swallow comes to in>-p«ct h» r ctiifice tomorrow

• rthday].

Rich. Wagner.

* Probably the A>m^ ZcitscJiHft tS. Aj>ri'. 10, i^'57, ronta-ning Wagner's
. :i^ On Frattz iJs'sVs SyrftpJwttir Poifns. \%'hicli originally formed a

♦ter to [*ss Wn's daughter (February 1$. 1^57). The last clause would
'HI to refer to the birth of little Karl, Apul i&. — Tr.

* Expecting King John of Saxony at his Hotel du Lac, Baur had
" .red as to the correct colour for decorations.

«"■

ZURICH LETTERS I3

4>f " tJie big last scene from * Die Walkiire ' " with Frau Polkrt
■as Briinnhilde^ himself as Wotan, and Th. Kirchner as ac-
companist : " We did it three times in my rooms^ i.e. tlu
Zeltweg flat^ from which he moved out t/ie middle of April ;
see p, Iviii sup. — Zr.]

27.

Herewith the music-journal * and a letter of Princess
Wittgenstein's, which please return to me when read.

I am to give you my wife's best wishes.

R. W.

28.

May 21, 57.

I have naught to say to the father of my country : if he
were to presume to call upon me in my swallow's-nest, I
should shew him the door. His colours are white and green;
this for Baur.f —

The Muse is beginning to visit me : does it betoken the
certainty of your visit? The first thing I found was a
melody which I didn't at all know what to do with, till of
a sudden the words from the last scene of Siegfried came
into my head. A good omen. Yesterday I also lit on the
•commencement of act 2 — as Fafner's Rest; which has an
element of humour in it. But you shall hear all about it,
if the swallow comes to inspect her edifice to-morrow

Xhis birthday].

Rich. Wagner.

♦ Probably the A>«^ Zezischrtfi ol April 10, 1857, containing Wagner's
article On Franz Liszfs Symphonic Poems^ which originally formed a
letter to Pss Wn*8 daughter (February 15, 1857). The last clause would
seem to refer to the birth of little Karl, April 18.— Tr.

t Estpecting King John of Saxony at his Hdtel du X^c, Baur haid
inquired as to the correct colour for decorations.

14 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

29.

[Early July 1857.]

It seems to me as though we had forgotten to send
you a proper invitation for Sunday evening [12th]: permit
us to remedy the omission herewith ! As you are aware, it
is a feast in honour of Sulzer. I am also to inform you
that tea will be served at 7 o'clock.

We hope to see you appear quite punctually with Herr
Kutter,* whom we likewise beg you most cordially to invite
on our behalf

For your personal gratification I may also tell you that
of late I have been unable to work again at night ; Calderon,
however, is committed to rest — Devrient sends you his
kindest regards. For the rest, the world is still standing,.
Fafner alive, and everything as it was.

30.

[Mid- August 1857?]

There you make acquaintance with a very amiable
person [Robert Franz?]. Good-morning !

[T/te poem of " Tristan und Jsolde'* was completed and its
last act given to Frau Wesendonck on t/te iSt/t of September
1857/ a memorable day — cf p. 42 inf In all likelihood the
next letter refers to a recital tlureof such as we know t/te
Hetweg/ts etc. to /lave been present at, — TV.]

81.

To the

highly-esteemed Familie

Wesendonck
(Myrrha, Guido, Karl etc.)
I don't want to leave it to Fortune whether you turn

'^ Of the firm of Kutter & Luckemeyer, New York. [Luckemeyer,
it will be remembered, was Frau Mathilde s maiden name. — ^Tr.]

ZURICH LETTERS 1 5

up this evening, but to ensure that good fortune by begging
it of you. I am expecting Semper and Herwegh. So—
early, please I

R. W. Lazarus.

32.

October I, 1857.*
[To Otto Wesendonck^

Thus, dear friend, you also receive your first

[nominal?] rent from me. In time I hope to get the

length of offering you the actual equivalent : perhaps it's

not so far off now ; then you shall say —

" Hei, unser Held Tristan,
wie der Zins zahlen kann ! 1 "—

And so for to-day, as for ever, my heartiest thanks again
for all the goodness and kindness you have shewn me I

Your

Richard Wagner.

[October 1857.]

"Die Morold schlug, die Wunde,
sie heilt' ich, dass er gesunde^**

and so on

has come -off capitally to-day — I must play it to you by
and by !

* Also the date of commencemeDt of the 'composition-draft' of
act i., TYistan.^Ti*

1 6 WAGNER TO MATHOLDE WESENDONCIC

[December 1857.]
The great outburst duet between Tristan and Isolde
has turned out beautiful beyond all measure, —
In the first flush of joy thereat

35.

[Dec. 1857.]

\T/ie following is a memorandum by Frau Wesendonck
herself y found in company of the said two additianal closes to
*• Schmerzen," the last whereof is the same as that now in use.
The difference between the 1st and 2nd versions of " Traume *'
consists in addition of t/te sixteen introductory bars^ the first
version having commenced with our bar 17. — 7"r.]

On tJie Tfith of Nojjember 1857 Richard Wagner wrote
tlu music to t/ie song:

" In der Kindheit fruhen Tagen " [= " Der Engel "].

December 4, 1857, t/ie first sketch for:

" Sag', welch* wunderbare Traume ? "

December 5, 1857, the second version of*^ Traume."
December 17, 1857, "Schmerzen"; with a second^ some-
what Ungtliened dose. This was soon followed b^ a third
close^ beneath which stood the words:

" It must become finer and finer !

" After a beautiful, refreshing night, my first waking
thought was this amended postlude: well see whether it
pleases Frau Calderon, if I let it sound up to her to-day." — ^

* " Tr&ume " was also scored for a small orchestra, and, conducting
eighteen picked Zurich bandsmen, Wagner performed it beneath Frau
Wesendonck's window, as a birthday greeting, Dec. 23, '57 : possibly he
played or sang ** Schmerzen" on the same occasion. — Tr.

ZURICH LETTERS 1 7

February 22, 1858, " Sausendes, brausendes Rad der
Zeit"[=«Stehe still"].

May I, 1858, "Im Treibhause."—

All five songs subsequently came out at Schotts Sons,
Mainz [1862], by t/te master^ s own instructions. — Before their
publication^ " Traume " and ** im Treibhause " were named by
himself " Studien zu Tristan und Isolde."

[December 1857?]
Here is another winter-flower for the Christmas-tree,
full of sweet honey, without the smallest banCi

87.

Hochbegluckt,

Schmerzentriickt,

frei und rein

ewig Dein —

was sie sich klagten

und versagten,
Tristan und Isolde,
in keuscher Tone Golde,
ihr Weinen und ihr Kiissen
leg' ich zu Deinen Fiissen,
dass sie den Engel loben,
der mich so hoch erhoben 1

Am Sylvester, 1857.*

R. W.

38.

I have not had the best of sleep, and was just hesitating

* New Year's Eve, 1857, together with the composition-draft of the
first act of Tristan, completed that day. Bare prose must serve for a
Tendering: "Thrice happy, out of reach of pain, free and purely ever
thine — ^Tristan and Isolde, what they bewailed and forwent, their tears
and kisses, in music's chaste gold I lay at thy feet, that they may praise
the angel who has lifted me so highl" — Tr.

1 8 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

whether I should come to-day, in spite of Vischer and ice.
Now, however, I think of looking in for half an hour.

I have much on my heart — yet everything, again, is but
the one thing without which poorest I should have no footing
more upon this earth. That one thing 1

A thousand greetings.

Thanks ! Slept well— go it must ! — And the one
thing !— •

Sincerest greeting!

[Prom Jan, i6 to Feb. 2, 1858, Wagner was in Paris^
whence he sent at kast one ktter that has not been preserved
{see p, 68 inf.). Perhaps the following note refers to a small
commission executed titere. — Tr,"]

39.

Here is the lamp-shade. May it shed a rose-beam on the
snow!

I have had quite a passable night. And how was
Wahlheim t off for sleep ?

Best greetings I

40.

[February 1858.]

I already have Soden too,J — unbound, and soon at
disposal.

'^ Ranging this and the preceding note here, I take the '*go it must**
to refer to the * orchestral sketches' of Tristan i,— commenced Nov. 5,
1857, completed January 13, 1858, — since the Hflrtels were to commence
engraving the work at once, and Wagner in fact began sending them his
fair-copy of the score in February. — Tr.

+ ** Home of Choice " ; perhaps from Goethe*s IVertJier, Dr. Golther
suggests. — Tr.

t Count J. von Soden's translation of Lope de Vega's dramas.

ZURICH LETTERS I9

I knew the whole catalogue before, through Schulthess.*
Perhaps the volume with Kaiser Otto at Florence would
also be worth reading.

Beyond these, Richard's translations seem to me not
uninteresting, as far as the matter goes.t

We might also think of Cervantes' tales — I possessed
them once myself.

For the rest, I can still help out awhile with my own
provision ; I'm— reading little.

Best thanks for Iphigenie [his own revision of Gluck's?],

Herewith a present from Strassburg ;t no pdU de foit
^as, though, our God be praised !

Shall we see each other this afternoon, perhaps ?

41.

After a wonderful night, blest with almost ten hours of
Goethian sleep,§ I wish you serenely happy Good-day, send
{schicke) you Schack,|| and promise to read aloud quite
beautifully this evening, if Herr Otto has nothing against it

* Zurich bookseller.

t C. Richard, Lope de Vega's Romantic Poetns^ i824>S.

X A Strassburg playbill, dated January 15, 1858: —

Aujourd'hui, U Foupar Amour^ par MM. Bourgeois et A. Denncry.

Le spectacle commencera
par Ouverture de Tannhduser^ Musique de R. Wagner.

\En route for Paris, Wagner had stumbled on this performance and
become the recipient of an impromptu ovation. — ^Tr ]

§ In Goethe's letters to Charlotte von Stein allusions to sleep abound :
once he writes, " I have only two gods, Thyself and Sleep ; *' still more
to the point, on two different occasions he says, '* I slept 10 hours last
night." This in corroboration of my remark, p. Ixi, on Wagner's mani-
fest familiarity with those letters. — Tr,

II Count A. F. von Schack's Geschichte der dramatischen Literatur in
Sfanien* [Wagner subsequently became next-door neighbour at Munich
to Schack and his famous picture-gallery; in the 'eighties he was still
recommending this ** History of Spanish Dramatic Literature" to his
friends. — Tr.]

20 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

So that one may not fall into the plight again, of having
to tell good stories badly, I deposit in the Wesendonck house

the accompanying exemplar [Grimms* Deutsche Sagen, 1816, No 72] ;

for black on white is a glorious thing.

You see, you won't be rid of me in a hurry ! Tm burrowing
so into your house, that, even if you burned it down, a very
well-known voice would cry to you from out the salvage :

** *Twas time that we got out ! "

43.

Tm sending to the bookbinder, and should like to get

[Lope de Vega's] " Star [of Seville] " etc. bound at the same
time. Do you still require it first?

Telegram,

Lucerne, 8.55 [a.m.]
Zurich, 31 March 58 ; 9.10.

To Herr Otto Wesendonck, Zurich.

The trusty Kapellmeister unfortunately cannot
conduct the concert to-day. Saint Gotthart has taken toll,
and given him in exchange a violently orthodox catarrh.
The concert shall still be conducted, though, if the bands-
men only keep in good tune.*

Your

Richard Wagner.

* Wesendonck must have been as much puzzled as ourselves by the
"soil aber doch noch dirigirt werden, die Musiker mOgen nur immer noch
gut einstimmen.'* The printed programme of this famous Villa concert
(detached movements from Beethoven's symphonies) bears the date March
31, 1858, and no contemporary speaks of its postponement ; wherefore it is
probable that, when telegraphing, Wagner meant to get Heim to take his
place, but on reaching Zurich (2.30 p.m.-H:f. p. 122) he felt better, and

ZURICH LETTERS 21

Madame Mathilde Wesendonck.

[Easter Sunday, April 4, 1858.]
Best thanks for the splendid flowers ! The old plant,
well looked after, is as magnificent as ever ; so I still
shs^U keep it- — A good thing I finished the act yesterday and
sent it off.* I should have been unable to work to-day ; the
catarrh has increased, and I am not free from a touch of
fever. Otherwise things go well — and brightly; how go
they in the neighbour-land ? —

46.

Madame Wesendonck.

Best thanks ! — I am still a little feverish and very limp,
but think of tasting a mouthful of the lovely air to-day.
Kindest wishes ! R. W.

47.

To the entire Familie

Wesendonck.

Children, am I not to get a glimpse of you to-day ? Tm

feeling better than yesterday.

R. W.

48.

[April 1858.]

I'm doing tolerably. How does the zealous lady-pupil
of de Sanctis ? t

conducted that evening himself — thereby "increasing his catarrh'' (see
no. 45). As he held a rehearsal on the 27th, he cannot have been absent
mare than three days; so that the allusion to "der heilige Gotthart"
sounds like some private joke — a pun on '* catarrh " ? — Tr.

* The Gennan edition conjectures May 1857 as the date of this letter,
connecting it with Siegfried i ; but later research shews that no Siegfried
music was ever " sent off ^ to H&rters, whereas the final pages of act i of
Tristan were, full score, on the 3rd of April 1858. — Tr.

t Francesco de Sanctis (1818-83), ^^ Italian scholar, then professor at
the Zurich Polytechnic.

22 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDQNCK

Thanks for the Cervantes meanwhile. It will tun^ 9ie
gradually for work again. The second act is beckoning me.*
Shall we see one another to-day ?

[April 1858?]
And my dear Muse still stays afar? In silence I awaited
her visit; with pleadings I would not disquiet her. For
the Muse, like Love, beatifies but freely; woe to the fool,
woe to the loveless, who fain would constrain what will
not yield itself of its free will. They cannot be constrained ;
is it not so? Not so? How could Love be Muse withal,
did it let itself be forced?

And my dear Muse stays far from me? —

60.

[Mid- April 1858?]

That letter — ^how mournful it has made me ! The demon
moves from out one heart into the other. How subjugate it ?
O we poor creatures! We are not our own. Demon,
change to god!

That letter has made me mournful. Yesterday I wrote
to our friend.t She will be sure to come in, before long.

50a.

\T he following unused sketch for ** Parzival^* was found
by Dr. Golther in the same envelope as letter 50, which would

* My arrangement of this little group of notes — ^which seem to have
followed each other pretty closely, and during their writer's temporary
confinement to the house by illness, — of course is purely tentative ; but I
now should guess the next of them, viz. no. 49, to have been the very one
'' intercepted '* by Minna (see pages ix and lix), thus accounting for com-
position of act ii TYistan not being actually commenced till May 4. — Tr.

t Frau Wille? Cf, p. 51, inf. also p. x «r/.— Tr.

!l!i!

ZURICH LETTERS

thus appear to have bun answered ere long by the poem " Im
Treibhaus^ set to music May i. — r^.]

Pabziyal.

22:

?2:

Wo find* ich
W?ierefind I

dicb,

thee, thou ho

da heil' • ger Gral, Dicb
ly QraiLf With

Sehn
heart

—J-

sncht voll
yearn - tn^

is:

sacht mein Her
have I eought

ze.

thee.

?=:

Dear errant child !
See, I was just about to write this down, when I found

thy lovely, noble verses.

61.

[April or May 1858?]

I have just been reading [Calderon's] holy " Ferdinand "
and found it very beautiful and touching. Perhaps it was
my frame of mind. Were death foretold me surely for this
year, I should embrace it as the most fortunate and conse-
crate of all my life. Only the uncertainty, how long remains
for us to live, makes us frail and prone to sin ; that certainty,
however, would hallow me completely. — How were it to
be gained, that certainty so ardently I yearn for ? —

[May 22, 1858?]
Ah, the lovely pillow ! Too dainty, though !
Tired and heavy as often is my head, I should never

24 WAGNER TO BIATHILDE WESENDONCK

dare to lay it on it, not even in sickness ; — ^at most, in death !

Then I may couch my head for once as easily as if I

had a right to! Then you shall spread the pillow under

me. — There you have my testament !

R. W.

53.

[Late May or early June r8s8.]

Madame Mathilde Wesendonck.
Here is my little musical home-goblin [Tausig];
may he find a kind welcome!

[July 2 (?) 1858.]

What a wondrous birth of our child of sorrows ! * Had
we to live, then, after all ? From whom could it be asked^
that he should forsake his children? —

God stand by us, poor creatures!

Or are we too rich?

Must we help ourselves unaided ? —

55.

[July6(?)i8s8.]t

Tuesday morning.

Surely thou didst not expect me to leave thy mar-
vellously beautiful letter unanswered? Or was I to forgo
the privilege of replying to the noblest word? And how
could I reply to thee, but in a manner worthy of thee ? —

The stupendous conflicts we have passed, how could
they end but with the victory over every wish and longing ?

In the most fervent moments of approximation, did we
not know that this was our goal? —

* With the sketches for act ii Tnstan, completed July i. [FuU score
begun July 5.]

t The original is missing. [Here for the first time " Du " appears in-
stead of " Sie/' apart from the verses of No. 37 and the lines under the
" Parzival " theme,— Tr.]

ZURICH LETTERS 2$

Assuredly! Only because its difficulty was so untold^
was it only to be reached after the hardest of combats ; but
have we not fought out all our battles now? What others
could there still remain ahead ? — Of a truth, I feel it deep
within : they are at end ! —

When a month gone by I told thy husband my resolve
to break off personal commune with you ["^mA"— plural] I
had — given thee up, albeit I was not yet altogether whole in
that For I merely felt that nothing save a total severance,
or — a total union, could secure our love against the terrible
collisions to which we had seen it exposed in these latter
times. Thus the sense of the necessity of our parting was
haunted by the possibility — present to the mind, if not to
the will — of union. In that still lay a racking suspense
which neither of us could bear. I approached thee, and clear
as day it stood before us, that that other possibility involved
a crime which could not be so much as thought of.

But hereby the necessity of our renunciation of itself
acquired another character : the strain resolved into a gentle
reconcilement. The last taint of egoism vanished from my
heart ; and now my decision to revisit you {Euch) was the
triumph of purest humanity over the last stirring of selfish
desire. I wished naught any longer but to reconcile,.
assuage, console — cheer up ; and thus procure myself withal
the only happiness that still can come to me. —

So deeply and terribly as in these last few months, have
I never been affected in my life. All earlier impressions
were void of meaning 'gainst these last. Shocks such as
I endured in that catastrophe were bound to plough deep
furrows in me ; and if aught could add to the great serious-
ness of my reflections, it was my wife's condition. For two
whole months I was threatened each day with the possible
news of her sudden death ; for the doctor had felt obliged
to warn me of that possibility. Everything round me

5 5 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

breathed the scent of death ; all my prospects and retrospects
became images of death, and life — as such — lost its last lure
for me. Admonished to the utmost sparing of the un-
happy soul, nevertheless I had to make up my mind to
raze our last hearth and home, so lately founded, and at
last to tell her so, to her deepest dismay. —

With what feelings dost thou think in this sweet
summertide I viewed this charming Asyl,* the sole and
perfect counterpart of my whilom aims and wishes, when
I wandered through the tiny garden of a morning, watched
the flowers springing into bloom, and listened to the white-
throat that had built her nest within the rosebush? And
what this tearing loose from my last anchor meant for me,
that tell thyself, who know'st my inmost thought as none !

If 1 have fled from the world once before, dost dream I
could return into it now? Now, when each nerve of me
has grown so sensitive and tender with the lengthier weaning
from all contact with it? Even my recent interview with
the Grand Duke of Weimar [mid-June] shewed me plainer
than ever that I can thrive in nothing but most absolute
independence, so that I earnestly had to decline every
possible kind of obligation to be entered, even towards this
really not unamiable prince. I cannot — cannot face towards
the world again ; to settle down in a big city, is inconceiv-
able to me. And if not that — how could I think again
of founding a new refuge, a new hearth, after having to
break up this, scarce tasted, which friendship and the noblest
love had founded for me in this charming paradise? No,
no ! — To go forth hence, for me is tantamount to— going
under !

With wounds like these in my heart, I can try to found
me no new home again ! —

* " Refuge/' or *' Haven of Rest "—the name he had given his little
house. — ^Tr.

ZURICH LETTERS 27

My child, there's only one salvation for me I can think
of; and that can only arise from the innermost depth of
the heart, not from any sort of outer dispensation. Its
name is Rest ! A truce to yearning ! Allaying of every
desire ! Worthy, noble overcoming ! Life for others, for
others — in relief to ourselves ! —

Thou know'st the whole solemn resolve of my soul
now ; it relates to all my views of life, to my whole future,
to all that stands anigh me, — and so to thee, too, who art
dearest to me ! Upon the ruins of this world of longing,
let me — bless thee! —

See, never in my life, in any manner of relation, have
I ever been importunate, but always of an almost exaggerated
sensibility; so for the first time will I seem to be impor-
tunate, and implore thee to be profoundly tranquil as
regards me. I shall not often visit you {Euch), for in future
you must only see me when Tm sure of shewing you a calm
and cheerful countenance. — Of old, maybe, I have sought
thy house in suffering and longing : thither, whence I wanted
solace, have I brought unrest and suffering. That shall be
no more. Wherefore if thou dost not see me for a length
of time, then — pray for me in silence I — For, then be sure
that I am suffering ! But when I come, be sure I'm bringing
to your house a gracious gift of my being, a boon such
as lent perhaps to me alone to shed, who have endured
so much and willingly. —

Probably, nay, certainly, the time is at hand — I conjecture
the beginning of next winter — when I shall depart from
Zurich altogether for a spell ; my amnesty, expected soon
[in vain 1], will reopen to me Germany, whither I shall peri-
odically return for the only thing I could not make good
to myself here. Then I often shall not see you for long.
But then to return again to the Refuge so endeared to
me, to recover from worry and unavoidable vexation, to

28 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

breathe pure air, and gain new zest for the old work for
which Nature has chosen me,— this, if you grant it me, will
ever be the point of mellow light that buoys me up there,
the sweet relief that becks me here.

And— wouldst thou then have shewn my life no highest
benefaction ? Should I not owe to thee the only thing that
yet can seem worth thanks to me upon this earth ? And
ought not I to seek to requite what thou has won for me
with suffering and sacrifices so indicible? —

My child, these last months have perceptibly blanched
the hair on my temples ; there is a voice in me that cries
with yearning after rest, — that rest which long, long years
ago I made my Flying Dutchman yearn for. It was the
yearning after "home," — not after the seductive joys of
love : only a grandly faithful woman could gain for him that
homeland. Let us vow ourselves to this fair death, which
stills and buries all our hankerings and cravings ! Let us
fade away, with peacefully transfigured gaze, and the holy
smile of beautiful self-victory ! — And — no one then shall lose^
when we are victors !

Farewell, my dear hallowed angel !

66.

[August 1858?]

It must be so!*

57.

[August, 17, 1858.]

Farewell! Farewell, dear love!

Tm leaving tranquilly. Where'er I be, I shall be wholly
thine now. Try to keep the Asyl for me auf Wiedersehen !
Auf Wiedersehen ! Dear soul of my soul, farewell — ^auf
Wiedersehen I —

* English in the original. This clearly refers to his irrevocable de»
cision to break up his home at once. — Tr.

DIARY

AUGUST iZs%— JANUARY 1859

VENICE

(}Viih one entry ^ April 1859, Lucerne)

9t 5t $1

DIARY

Since my flight from the Asyl
17. August 1858

Geneva.
Aucjjust 21.

The last night in the Asyl I went to bed at
II o'clock: I was to start at S next morning. Before I
closed my eyes, it flashed through my soul how I had
always sent myself to sleep here by the thought that on
this very spot I once should die : thus should I lie when
thou approachedst me for the last, last time, clasp'dst my
head in thine arms, in open view of all, and with one final
kiss receiv'dst my spirit ! That death was my fondest
conception, and it had framed itself entirely to the locality
of my sleeping-room: the door toward the staircase was
closed, thou enter'dst through the curtains of the study;
thus didst thou wind thine arm around me ; thus, gazing
up to thee, I passed away. — And now ? Even that possibility
of dying had been snatched from me ! Cold, as if hunted,
I was quitting this house, in which I had been shut with
a daemon I no longer could ban save by flight. — Where —
where shall I die, then ? Thus I fell asleep. —

Out of troubled dreams I was wakened by a wondrous
rustling : as I woke I plainly felt a kiss upon my brow : —
a shrill sigh succeeded. Twas all so lifelike, that up I
sprang, and peered around me. All still. I struck a light :

32 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

it was just before i, at end of the ghosts' watch. Had
a spirit stood guard by me in that drear hour? Wert
thou awake or sleeping, near that time? — How fared it
with thee? — Never an eye could I close thereafter. For
long I vainly tossed in bed, till at last I rose, completely
dressed myself, shut the last trunk to, and, now pacing up
and down, now stretched full length on the divan, uneasily
waited for daylight. This time it appeared later than I
had been accustomed-to on sleepless nights in the summer
past ; shame-flushed the sun crept up behind the mountain.
— Then I gazed across once more and long. — O Heaven,
not a tear came to me, but it seemed as if every hair on
my temples were turning grey! — I had taken leave; now
everything was cold and set within me. — I went downstairs.
There my wife was waiting for me ; she offered me tea.
'Twas an awful, lamentable hour. — She accompanied me.
We paced down the garden. It was a magnificent morning :
I never turned my head. — At the last farewell my wife
broke out in tears and lamentations ; for the first time
my eyes stayed dry. Once again I exhorted her to gentle-
ness and nobleness and quest of Christian comfort ; once
more the old revengeful vehemence flared up in her. She
is incorrigible, — I could not help telling myself, — yet I
cannot venge myself on the unhappy woman ; herself she
must work out her own sentence. — So I was in terrible, sad
and deadly earnest ; but — weep I could not. — So I set forth.
And lo ! — I won't deny it : it was well with me, I breathed
free. — I was faring into solitude : there I am at home ;
in that solitude where I may love thee with every breath

I draw !

Here I haven't spoken to a soul as yet, save servants.
Even Karl Ritter I have written not to call upon me. It
does me so much good, not to have to speak. — Thy diary •

* See pages 50 and 56, infra. — ^Tr.

VENICE DIARY 33

I read ere going to my first sleep since my departure.
Thy diary ! Those fair deep imprints of thy being ! — I
slept well.

Next day I moved into a lodging,* which I have hired
by the week. Here I am quiet and undisturbed, collect
my thoughts, and wait till the heat is past, to let me go
to Italy. I keep the house the whole day long. —

Yesterday I wrote to my sister Klare,t whose acquaint-
ance thou madest two years ago: she wanted brotherly
explanation from me, as my wife had written and announced
herself. I indicated to her what thou hast been and art
to me these six years since ; what a heaven thou hadst
prepared for me, and with what strifes and sacrifices thou
hadst stood by me ; and how that wonder-work of thy high,
noble love had then so rudely and so clumsily been mauled.
I know she'll understand me — she has the heart of an
enthusiast in a somewhat unkempt shell — and I was bound to
shed a little light on that side ; but how my soul and bosom
heaved as I ventured to delineate thy lofty, noble purity
with tender touch I — Of a surety, we shall forget and forgive
all, all, and nothing but elation will remain ; the conscious-
ness that here a miracle has happened, the like whereof
Dame Nature weaves but once in centuries, perhaps never
so nobly before. Away with grief! We are the happiest ;
with whom would we exchange? —

August 23. S in the morning.

In a dream 1 saw thee on the terrace, dressed as
a man, with a travelling-cap upon thy head. Thou peer'dst
toward the direction in which I had departed ; but I drew
near from the contrary : thus thy gaze was ever turned from

* Third floor of the "Maison James Fazy," subsequently Hotel de
Russie, corner of the Quai du L^man and Rue du Montblanc. — Tr.
t The letter reproduced in the preface to the present volume.

34 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

me, and I sought in vain to signal my approach, until I
softly cried : Mathilde ! then louder and still louder, till my
bedroom echoed with the sound, and my own cries awakened
me. — Then, when I had relapsed a little into slumber, I
dreamed I was reading letters of thine, wherein thou con-
fess'dst to me a youthful love-affair ; thou hadst renounced
thy lover, yet kept'st singing his praises, so that I appeared
in the light of a mere would-be consoler, — which somewhat
galled me. I would not let that dream proceed, and arose to
write these lines. — The whole day I had had vehement
longing, and a grievous impatience of life had mastered me
once more. —

August 24.

Yesterday 1 felt utterly wretched : Why go on
living ; why live ? Is it cowardice — or courage ? Why that
immeasurable happiness, to be so boundlessly unhappy ?

The night brought sound sleep. — To-day has gone

better. — I have had a beautiful portfolio made here, expressly
to lock away thy keepsakes and letters : it will hold a great
quantity, and what once gets in, will not be given out again
to naughty children. Therefore take good care what thou
send'st me in future : not a jot thereof wilt thou have back
— until after my death; unless thou wouldst fain commit it
to the grave with me. — To-morrow I go direct to Venice.
I am dying to get there, where I think of settling calmly
down, tho' the journey in itself is most distasteful to me. — It
is a week to-day since I saw thy terrace for the last time ! —

Venice, the 3rd of September.

Yesterday I wrote thee and our lady friend,* so
long had I been withheld by the journey and my accommoda-
tion here. Now the diary shall be kept right methodically. —

* Frau Wille : the letters are not preserved.

VENICE DIARY 35

My route lay over the Simplon; the mountains, particu-
larly the long valley of Wallis [Vaiais], weighed me down.
One lovely hour I spent on the garden-terrace of the Isola
bella; a wondrous sunny morning; I knew this spot,* and
dismissed the gardener at once, to be alone there. A beauti-
ful sense of calm and uplifting came over me — so beautiful,
that it could not last. Yet what raised me up, what was
with and in myself, that lasted : the happiness of being loved
by thee!

At Milan merely a night's halt ; on August 29 arrived in
Venice after noon. On the way down the Grand Canal to
the Fiazetta, melancholy impressions and graveness of mood ;
grandeur, beauty and decay, in close array : yet comfort in
the reflection that here no modernity flourished, and in con-
sequence no bustling triviality. S. Mark's Square of magical
effect. A wholly distant, outlived world, it admirably fits
the wish for solitude : nothing to strike one as directly real
life ; everything objective, like a work of art. I zvill remain
here, — and accordingly I shall. — Next day, after long debate,
apartments taken on the Grand Canal in a mighty palace
where I am quite alone for the present ; wide, lofty spaces,
wherein I can wander at will. Since the question of Abode
is so important to me, as the housing for my labour-
mechanism, Fm devoting all possible care to arranging it
after my wish. I wrote for the Erard at once ; it ought
to sound wonderful in my vast, high palace-salon. The
peculiarly intense stillness of the Canal suits me splendidly.
Not till 5 in the afternoon do I leave my abode, to dine ;
then promenade towards the public garden ; brief halt in
the square of S. Mark, which gives a thoroughly theatrical
suggestion through its absolute uniqueness and its sea of
utter strangers void of all concern to me, merely distracting

• See letter to Otto of July '52.— Tr.

36 WAGNER TO BIATHILDE WESENDONCK

one's fancy. Toward 9 return home in a gondola ; find the
lamp lit, and read a little till bedtime. —

Thus will my life flow outwardly on, and thus would
I have it Unfortunately, my stay here is already known ;
but I have given orders, once for all, to admit nobody. — -
This solitude, possible wellnigh here alone to me — and so
agreeably possible— <:aresses myself and my hopes. — Eh!
I hope, for thy sake to get well ! To save thee to me, means
to save me to my art. With it — to live for thy consolement ;
that is my mission, that fits with my nature, my fate, my
will, — my love. Thus am I thine; thus, too, shalt thou get
well through me! Here will the Tristan be completed — a
defiance to all the raging of the world. And with that,
an I may, shall I return to see thee, comfort thee, to make
thee happy ; there looms my fairest, my most sacred wish.
So be it ! Sir Tristan, Lady Isolde ! help me, help my
angel! Here shall your wounds cease bleeding, here shall
they heal and close. From here shall the world once learn
the sublime and noble stress of highest love, the plaints
of agonising joy. And august as a god, serene and hale,
shalt thou then behold me back, thy lowly friend !

September 5.

This night I have been sleepless, long my vigil ;
my sweet child does not tell me how it fares with her? —
Marvellously beautiful, the Canal by night ; bright stars,
last quarter of the moon. A gondola glides by; from the
distance the chant of gondoliers calling to each other. This
last is extraordinarily beautiful, sublime : Tasso's stanzas
are recited to it no more, they say, but the melodies are
in any case of hoary eld, as old as Venice ; certainly older
than Tasso's stanzas, which must simply have been fitted
to them after. Thus the everlasting has preserved itself

VENICE DIARY 37

in the melody, whereas the stanzas were but taken there-
into as a passing phenomenon, at last to be engulfed *
These profoundly melancholy ditties, sung with full
ringing voice, borne across the water from afar, and dying
into still remoter distance, have sublimely moved me.
Glorious ! —

September 6.

Yesterday I saw Ristori as Maria Stuart. I had
seen her first a few days since as Medea, in which she
pleased me much, nay — made a fairly deep impression on
me. Uncommon virtuosity, and in the play of emotions
a certainty of gesture never known to me before in such
perfection ; but what I missed from the first — ^and as for that,
is necessarily foreign to Medea — I plainly recognised now
as the chief defect in her art, since it is imperatively
demanded of Maria Stuart. Here ideality, enthusiasm,
deep, rapturous warmth, are needed. It was humiliating,
how painfully the artist fell short here ; and with no little
pride I felt the height and the significance of German art;^
when I remembered how enkindlingly, ay, transportingly
I had seen this very task fulfilled by many a German
actress;! whereas the Ristori, with her abrupt leaps from
sophisticated prose to almost animally plastic passion,
shewed that she had not even remotely guessed the nature
of her task, to say nothing of being born to it. It was
truly deplorable and exasperating. This strain of ideality
in German art, however, is that which makes my music
possible, and by means thereof my poetry. How distant,
on the other hand, are these French- Italian evolutions from
all I can ever conceive ; and yet the ideal element casts

* Cf. Prase IVarks, vol. v. 73-4 (the Beethoven essay),
t Minna herself had played the part at Riga in 1839 ^^ "guest,'
and therefore presumably before her marriage also. — Tr.

s«

WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

an unconscious spell over Italians and French themselves,
when it comes upon them from without, so that I cannot

let it merely rank as a sort of specifically German onesided-
hess of character. I myself have experienced this in the
effect on individuals of my performances. — In what, then,
consists the difference between the ideality I mean and that
realistic comedy of passion? Glance through the scene
in the third act of Maria Stuart, in the garden where she
welcomes freedom, and imagine that Ristori left out the
greater part here, nay, almost all that did not lead up to
a point of hatred against Elisabeth, and thus afford an
opening for development of her rapid changes of impassioned
byplay. — ^Yet, that will not make it quite clear to thee,
but thou'lt know what I mean in an instant, if I remind thee
of our love

September 7.

To-day I had a note from Frau Wille ; it was the
first tidings I had had of thee. Thy mind is made up, she
says, calmly and resolutely to go through with the renuncia-
tion : parents, children — duties. —

Oh but how foreign it sounded to me, in my solemn
cheerfulness ! —

Thinking of thee, never have parents, children, duties,
come into my mind : I simply knew that thou lov'dst me,
and that everything sublime must be unhappy in the world.
From this height it startles me to see a written catalogue
of wAat makes us unhappy. Then of a sudden I see thee
in thy gorgeous house, see all tAat^ hear all ^/u?se to whom
we must ever remain unintelligible; those who, strangers,
yet are — near us, all anxiety to keep the Near afar from
us; and anger takes me at the thought: To these^ who
know naught of thee, comprehend naught of thee, but want
everything from thee, thou*rt to sacrifice all ! — I cannot, will

VENICE DIARY 39

not see or hear it, if I'm to finish worthily my earthly work !
Only from the inmost depth can I gain the strength ; but —
everything from without, that would usurp my resolutions,
stirs bitterness up in me. —

Thou hopest to see me for a few hours in Rome this
winter ? I fear— I cannot see thee ! To see thee, — and then
depart from thee for the delectation of another, — can I do
that now already ? Surely not ! —

And no letters, wouldst thou ? —

I have written thee,* and sincerely hope not to be rejected
with that letter ; — ay, I am sure of thine answer ! —

Away with these foolish thoughts ! — I hope. —

Sept. 8.

" O blinde Augen !
Blode Herzen ! " \THstan t-Tr.]

Sept ID.

Yesterday I was downright ill, with fever. In the
evening, too, I received another letter from Frau Wille : —
enclosed was my note to thee — sent back unopened ! —
Nay, that should not have been ! — Not that ! —
To-day I have nothing for the diary as yet; no
thoughts, — merely feelings. Those must first come to
clearness. —

That thou art recruiting thy health, and feeling strong,
is my consolation. I have yet another, that almost looks
like a revenge: — Some day thou'lt read this rejected letter
also— and realise what an appalling injustice has been done
me with its rejection ! — But much the same has occurred
to me quite often before. —

See entry under date September 3. — Tr.

40 WAGNER TO BIIATHILDE WESENDONOC

Sept. II.

Ha ! — a direct address from thee ! Three words —
nothing more !

Yet mere go-betweens, were they the most intelligent
and sympathetic, can make up for nothing. How hard it is
for two to understand each other fully, how necessary,
even for that communion, that they should be in a happily
like mood, such as nothing but the fullest feeling of the
loved one's actual presence can really bring to pass ; but a
third person stands ever apart. Who could efface himself
and his particular standpoint so entirely, as only to be a
channel for two others? That Frau Wille, purely for her
own part, cannot prevail on herself to convey to thee letters
from me, I can but deem intelligible: of course there can
be no regard paid to their contents there, no consideration
how quieting, therefore how needful such communications
are ; — enough, they're letters, and she feels, perhaps must
feel, compunction in delivering them. As for that, whatever
can the "lady friend" advise in general, save what her
attitude toward all concerned makes possible to her, and
possible in the best and noblest sense ? — But — she also acted
according to thy wish ! What ! — a case of conscience
between us two?

Enough for to-day I — Peace ! Peace ! —

September 13.

I felt so sad, that I meant to confide nothing
even to the diary: then thy letter came to-day — ^the letter
to Frau Wille. — That thou lov'st me, I knew full well, and
thou art good as ever, profound and wise ; so I had to smile,
almost to rejoice at my late vexation, since thou prepar'st
me here so excellent a satisfaction. I understand thee — even
where I think thee a shade in the wrong, — for everything
is a wrong to me, that savours of defence against im-

VENICE DIARY 4 1

portunacy. By that terrible departure from Zurich I should
have thought I had given final proof that I can— withdraw ;
consequently I have a right to resent any doubt of my
resignative nicety as an unmerited and deep affront — Yet
to what purpose that now? — My beautiful exaltation has
been cast down ; it needs an effort, to mount again : for-
give me if I still am tottering ! — I'll be cheerful again —
so far as I can ; to Frau Wille, too, Til write ere long ;.
but even with letters to her I'll be moderate. God ! every
single thing is so hard, and yet the highest can only be
attained through moderation. — Yes! 'tis well, and all will
turn out well. Our love stands high above all obstacles, and
every hindrance makes us richer, more spiritual, nobler, and
ever more intent upon the substance and essence of our love,,
ever more indifferent toward the inessential. Yes, good,,
pure darling ! we shall triumph, — ^we are already in the
midst of victory. —

September i6.

Behold me well and cheerful. Thy letter rejoices-
me yet. How apt, how sweet and beautiful, is everything
that springs from thee! — Our personal fate seems to me
almost a matter of indifference now, everything within is.
so pure, so altc^ether fitted to our nature alike and necessity.
With that harmonious feeling I wish to return to my work^
and am waiting for the piano. The Tristan will cost much,
still ; but once it is quite ended, meseems a vastly important.
period of my life will have then been rounded off, and I
shall look with new senses, calmly, clearly and with deep con-
sciousness into the world, and through the world up to thee-
For that it also is, I now feel so much drawn to work. —

Meanwhile I have all manner of dreadful and tedious

, correspondence, that takes away my time ; yet ever thou

quicken'st me in midst thereof, and Venice gloriously assists

42 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

thee to cheer me up. For the first time I breathe this pure,
•delicious, ever even air ; the magic of the place enfolds
me in a tender melancholy charm, which never ceases to
•exert its beneficial power. Of an evening, when I take a
gondola trip to the Lido, it vibrates round me like one
of those mellow long-drawn fiddle-nptes I love so, and to
which I once compared thee. Judge thence how I feel, in
the moonbeams there on the sea ! —

September i8.

A year gone by to-day I finished the poem of
Tristan and brought thee its last act, thou led'st me to
the chair before the sofa, placedst thy arm around me and
saidst : " I no more have a wish ! " —

On this day, at this hour, was I born anew. — To then
was my before-life : from then began my after-life : in that
wondrous instant alone did I live. Thou know'st how I
spent it? In no tumult of intoxication; but solemnly,
profoundly penetrated by a soothing warmth, free as if
looking on eternity. — I had been painfully, but more and
more definitely detaching myself from the world ; all had
turned to negation in me, to warding off. Painful was even
my artistry; for it was a longing, an unstilled longing, to
find for that negation, that warding off — the positive,
aflRrmative, self-wedding-to-me. That instant gave it me,
with so infallible a certitude that a hallowed standstill
came o'er me. A gracious woman, shy and diffident,
had taken heart to cast herself into a sea of griefs and
sorrows, to shape for me that precious instant when
she said : I love thee ! — Thus didst thou vow thyself to
death, to give me life ; thus did I receive thy life, thence-
forward from the world to part with thee, to suffer with
thee, die with thee. — At once the spell of longing was
dissolved !— And this one thing thou knowest too, thsit

VENICE DIARY 43

ne'er since have I been at variance with myself. Perplexity
«nd pang might come to us ; even thyself might'st be swept
by an eddy of passion: — but I — thou know'st! — remained
ever the same ; never, by never so awful a moment, could
my love to thee be reft of its fragrance, were it but of one
minutest film. All bitterness had vanished from me; I
might mistake, feel pained or tortured, but ever it stayed
clear as day to me that thy love was my highest possession,
and without it my existence must be a contradiction of
itself. —

Thanks to thee, thou gracious, loving angel ! —

September 23.

The drinking-vessel [see p. 88] and cup have arrived ;
once again the first friendly token from without What am
I saying ? " von Aussen " ? How can anything come from
without to me, that comes from thee ? And yet, — it comes
from out the distance ; from that distance where my nearest
now is. A thousand thanks, thou dear inventive soul !
Thus mute, how plainly can we tell each other what is so
inexpressible ! —

September 26.

I can't even get to my diary now, such an odious
mass of business letters I have to attend to. How foolish
I am, though ! This constant vulgar care for life, — and at
bottom so deep a disgust with it ; a life I always have to
dress up artificially, not to see it constantly before me in
its natural offensiveness ! If people only knew what lies
between me and a final possibility of rest for work ! — Yet
111 hold on, since I must; I do not belong to myself, and
my griefs and troubles are the means to an end that scoffs
at all these sufferings. Tut, tut ! — no shirking ! —

44 WAGNER TO KIATHILDE WESENDONCK

September 29.

The waning moon now rises late : at its full it fur-
nished me fine comfort through agreeable sensations which I
needed. After sunset I regularly took a gondola to meet
it, toward the Lido, for the battle twixt day and night was
always an entrancing vision in this limpid sky: to the
right, amid the dusk-rose aether, gleamed kindly bright the
evening star; the moon in full splendour cast its flashing
net towards me in the sea. Then when I turned my back
upon it for the journey home, my gaze— athwart toward
where thou dwellest, and whence thou look'dst towards the
moon — would meet the comet, stern and brilliant with its
tail of waxing light, close above my affinity the Wagoner.
For me it had no terrors, just as nothing can inspire me
any more with fear, because I absolutely have no hope,
no future more ; rather, I could but smile quite earnestly
at people's awe of such a visitant, and chose it with a certain
insolent pride for my star. I could see nothing in it but
the unaccustomed, dazzling, marvellous. Am I such a comet
myself? Have I brought misfortune ? — Was it my fault ? —
I could not lose it from my ken again. Silent and at peace
I reached the gaily-lighted, ever-lively Piazzetta. Then
down we go the melancholy grave Canal : to left and right
stand lordly palaces : without a sound : only the gentle
gliding of the gondola, the plashing of the oar, broad
shadows from the moon. At my dumb palace steps I
disembark : wide halls and spaces, now inhabited by me
alone. The lamp is burning ; I pick up a book, read little,
ponder much. AlFs still. — Music there, on the canal 1
An illuminated gondola with singers and musicians: more
and still more boats with listeners follow in its wake: the
flotilla spans the breadth of the canal, gliding all but moveless
past Fine voices, passable instruments, render songs. Ail
is ear. — Then, scarcely perceptibly it curves round the bend,

VENICE DIARY 45

^nd vanishes still more imperceptibly. For long I still can
hear the tones, ennobled and transfigured by the midnight
stillness, tones that as art could hardly captivate me, but
had here become part of nature. At last all ceases: the
last tone as if dissolves into the moonlight, which softly
goes on shining as a visual remainder of the sound-world. —

Now the moon has waned. —

I have not been well these last few days : I have had
to give up my evening cruise. Nothing remains but my
loneliness, and my futureless existence ! —

On the table before me lies a little picture. It is the
portrait of my father,* which I no longef could shew thee
when it arrived ; a noble, gentle, sufferingly pensive face
that infinitely moves me. It has become very dear to
tne. — ^Whoever enters, would probably suspect at first the
picture of a lady-love. Nay ! Of her I have no picture,
but her soul I carry in my heart; there let him peep
who can ! — Good-night ! —

September 30.

To-day I have gone through much. I heard of
my beloved's care for me, and quite a beautiful letter lay
by.f I have answered as well as I could, sadly and gladly,
just as I felt! —

.•••••• ••

Once more I have experienced a thorough horror of
youthful marriages ; J except with persons of absolutely no

* Surely this must be meant for "stepfather'*; see the letter of
Jan. 5, 1870 to Otto, also the portrait of Geyer on page 34 of Mr. H. S.
Chamberlain's Richard Wagner. — Tr.

t See letter of same date to Frau Wille, printed below.

X Comparing this sentence with the said letter to Frau Wille, I take
the preceding dots to represent some allusion to Karl Ritter, whose
marriage, contracted four years previously, had by no means proved
a happy one. — Tr.

46 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

importance, I have not yet encountered one the radical
mistake whereof has not shewn forth in time. What misery
thenl Soul, character, parts — all must warp, unless excep-
tional, and then of course most sorrowful new relations
supervene. Thus all around me is quite doleful ; what has.
any manner of significance, helpless and sufTering : and
only the insignificant can thoroughly enjoy existence. Yet
what recks Nature of it all ? She goes her blind way, intent
on nothing but the race: i.e. to live anew and anew, com-
mence ever again ; spread, spread — utmost spread ; the in-
dividual, on whom she loads all burdens of existence, is
naught to her but a grain of sand in this spread of the
species ; a grain she can replace at any moment, if she only
gives an extra twist to the race, a thousand- and a million-
fold ! Oh, I can't stand hearing anyone appeal to Nature :
with finer minds 'tis finely meant, but for that very reason
something else is meant thereby; for Nature is heartless
and devoid of feeling, and every egoist, ay, every monster,
can appeal to her example with more cause and warranty
than the man of feeling. — What, then, is such a marriage,
which we contract for life in giddy youth at the first stir
of the sexual impulse ? And how seldom are parents made
prudent by their own experience ; when they themselves at.
last have steered out of misery and into ease, they forget
all about it, and heedlessly allow their children to plunge*
along the selfsame track ! — Yet it is just like everything
in Nature : for the individual she holds misery, death and
despair, in readiness, and leaves him to lift himself above
them by his highest effort of resignation : — she cannot
prevent that succeeding, but looks on in amazement, and
says perhaps : ** Is that what I really willed ? " —

Fm not quite well yet, but have great hopes of to-night
if it brings me calm sleep. Thou wilt not grudge me-
that ?— Good-night !—

VENICE DIARY 47

October i.

The other day, in the street, my eye chanced to-
light on a poulterer's stall ; unconsciously I was looking at
the heaped-up wares, all neatly and appetisingly dressed^
when, as a man at one side was busy plucking a fowl,
another thrust his hand into a cage, dragged out a live
hen, and tore off its head. The bird's horrible shriek, its
pitiful clucking while being overcome, sent a shudder through
my soul. — Often as I had experienced the impression before,,
I haven't got rid of it since. — It is ghastly, the bottomless
abyss of inhumanest misery on which our existence, for
the most part bent on pleasure, is really poised ! This has
always been so manifest to me, and with increasing sensibility
has become so stamped upon my mind, that I recognise the
rightful cause of all my sorrows as strictly residing in my
inability to give up life and strife as yet for good. The
consequences thereof are bound to shew in everything ; and
my often unaccountably changeful behaviour, my not
infrequent acrimony toward my dearest, is to be explained
by this conflict alone. Where I observe decided ease, or
marked tendency to procure it, I turn aside with a certain
inward horror. So soon as an existence appears to me
painless, and carefully planned for avoidance of pain, I am
capable of dogging it with implacable bitterness, because
I account it so far removed from the right solution of man's
task. Thus, with no feeling of envy, I have felt an instinc-
tive dislike of the rich : I admit that, despite their pos-
sessions, even they are not to be called happy ; but they
have a very pronounced aspiration to be so, and that so
alienates me from them. With studied aim they hold at
arm's-length whatever might bewray to their dormant
fellow-feeling that misery whereon all their wished-for ease
is based ; and that alone divides me from them by a whole
world. I have searched my heart and found that I am

48 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

•drawn with sympathetic urgency towards that other side,
and nothing seriously touches me save in so far as it awakes
my fellow-feeling — that is : fellow-suflFering. This com-
passion I recognise as the strongest feature in my moral
being, and presumably it also is the wellspring of my art.

What characterises compassion, however, is that its accesses
are not determined by the suffering object's individual qualities,
but just simply by the witnessed suffering itself With love 'tis
•otherwise : in it we ascend to communion of joy [••Mit-Freude"],
and we can share an individual's joy only when his or her
particular qualities are in the highest degree agreeable and
homogeneous to us. Among ordinary personalities this is
far more lightly possible, because purely sexual regards are
almost exclusively at work here ; but the nobler the nature,
the more difficult this integration to communion of joy,
and should it succeed, behold the highest height! — On the
contrary, compassion can bestow itself on the commonest
and meanest creature, a creature which apart from its suffering
has absolutely nothing sympathetic to us, ay, is positively
antipathetic to us in what it is able to enjoy. The cause
hereof in any case is infinitely deep, and if we espy it, we
see ourselves thereby raised above all stricter barriers of
personality ; for in this exercise of our compassion we en-
•counter Suffering itself, irrespective of personality.

To deaden oneself to the promptings of pity, one generally
argues that lower natures have been proved, you know, to
feel pain itself far more slightly than is the case with higher
organisms ; that pain increases in reality in direct ratio to
the degree of heightened sensibility which enables one to pity :
therefore that compassion bestowed on lower natures is a
squandering, exaggerating, ay, a cockering of our emotions. —
But this opinion reposes on the fundamental error from which
all realistic readings of the world proceed ; and it is precisely
here that idealism shews itself in its true moral import, since

VENICE DIARY 49

tt lays that bSire to us as egoistic hebetude. Here it is not a
question of what the other suffers, but of what / suffer when
I know it to be suffering. Indeed we know all that exists
outside us only in so far as we figure it to ourselves, and as
I figure it, so it is to me : if I ennoble it, it is noble because
I am ; if I feel its pain to be profound, so it is, because
I feel profoundly when figuring its pain, — and whoever,
on the contrary, may figure it as small, merely shews
thereby that he is small himself Thus my compassion
makes the other's suffering a verity, and the smaller the being
with which I am able to suffer, the more extensive and en-
compassing is the field of my emotion in general. — Herein
resides that attribute of mine which to others may appear a
weakness, and' I grant that one-sided dealing is much impeded
thereby, though I am certain that when I do deal, I deal
conformably to my nature, and at any rate never inflict pain
on anyone intentionally. For all my future dealings, how-
ever, I shall be guided by this consideration alone : to occasion
others as little pain as possible. In that way I shall find
myself entirely at one with myself, and only so can I also
hope to give others joy ; for there is no true, sterling joy,
save of agreement in compassion. That, however, I cannot
compel : it must be brought me by my friend's own nature
of itself, and therefore — have I only once been fronted with
it whole and full ! —

But another thing has also grown clear to me: why
I can feel even more compassion for lower natures, than for
higher. The higher nature is what it is for very reason that
its own suffering uplifts it to the height of resignation, or
that it has the germs of that uplifting in it, and tends them ;
it stands directly near to me, is my equal, and with it I
attain to communion of joy. Wherefore I feel less com-
passion for men, at bottom, than for beasts. To these I
see the capability of elevation above pain, of resignation

50 WAGNER TO KIATHILra: WESENDONCK

and its deep, divine tranquillity entirely denied ; so that when
they fall on suflFering — for instance when they're tortured — I
see with torturing despair myself just simply absolute suffer-
ing, void of redemption, without any higher purpose, and
with death alone for liberation ; a liberation which goes to
prove that it would have been better had they never arrived
at existence at all. Wherefore if there be any purpose at
all in this suffering, it can only be the wakening of pity in
Man ; who thereby takes the animal's failed existence up
into himself, and becomes redeemer of the world inasmuch
as he recognises the error of existence in general. (This
meaning will become clear to thee some day from the
third act of Parzival, Good Friday morning.) Now, to see
this capacity for world-redemption through pity innate in a
man, but undeveloped, and rotting through studious neglect,
makes just that man repellent to me, and weakens my com-
passion for him to the point of complete insensibility towards
his want In his want he has the very road to redemption
which is closed to the beast ; if he does not recognise it, but
absolutely wills to keep it blocked to him, I on the contrary
feel urged to throw that door wide open to him, and can go
the length of cruelty, to bring the want of suffering to his
consciousness. Nothing leaves me colder than the philistine's
howl over a disturbance of his ease : here any compassion
would be complicity; just as it is a property of my whole
nature to rouse people out of vulgarity, I am driven also here
to naught but goading to give them to feel of the great
sorrow of life! —

Now with thee, child, I also have no compassion more.
Thy journal which at last thou gav'st me,* thy latest letters,

shew me thee so high, so true, so clarified and glorified t;>y

sorrow, so mistress of thyself and the world, that I now can
feel but communion-of-joy, but reverence, worship. Thou

* See pages 32 and 56. — Tr.

VENICE DIARY 5 1

beholdest thy pain no longer, but the pain of all the world ;
thou canst not so much as figure it to thyself in any other
form than of the suffering of the world at large ; in the
noblest sense, thou hast become a poet —

But terrible compassion I had for thee then, when thou
thrust'st me from thee ; when, no longer a victim to pain
but to passion, thou deem'dst thyself betrayed, believ'dst the
noblest in thee misconstrued ; then wast thou to me as
an angel abandoned by God. And just as that thy state
soon freed me from my own bewilderment, it made me in-
ventive to convey thee balm and healing ; I found the
lady friend* to bring thee solace and uplifting, relief and
reconciliation. See, it was pity did that ! Of a truth, I could
forget myself for that sake, will to renounce for aye the bliss
of seeing thee, of being near thee, if but I knew thee calmed,
enlightened, given back to thine own self. So contemn not
my pity where thou seest me exert it, since I have nothing
left to bestow on thyself save communion of joy ! Oh, that
as the sublimest ; it can only appear where sympathy is at
its full. From the commoner nature to which I gave pity
I must swiftly turn away so soon as it demands of me
community of joy ; that was the cause of the last embroil-
ment with my wife. The unhappy woman had understood
in her way my resolve not to set foot in your house any more,
and read it as a rupture with thee ; so she thought that ease
and intimacy were bound to be established between us on
her return. How fearfully I had to undeceive her ! But —
quiet ! quiet ! Another world will rise for us ; be thou blest
therein, thrice welcomed to eternal unity of joy ! —

October 3.

What a hard life I have of it, to be sure ! When I
think of the vast expenditure of care, worry and pain I need,

* See letter 50, page 22. — Tr.

52 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

merely to procure myself a little leisure from time to time,
Tm inclined to be iashamed of going on imposing myself in
this way on existence, since the world, speaking strictly, will
really have nothing to do with me. Thus for ever and ever
to be fighting for provision of the needful, often obliged for
whole long periods to think of absolutely nothing but how
to set about obtaining outward quiet and the requisites of
existence for a little time ahead ; and for that to have so
entirely to depart from my own way of feeling, to appear to
those through whom I want myself maintained so altogether
different from what I am, — it truly is revolting. And added
to it all, to be framed the very way to recognise it as none
other. All these cares come so naturally to a man who views
life as an end in itself, who finds in concern for provision of
the needful the best of sauces for his imaginary enjoyment of
the finally procured. For which reason, also, no one else can
quite understand why this is so absolutely repugnant to a
man like me, seeing that it is the lot and condition of all
men ; that for once in a way a man should just not view
life as an end in itself, but as an unavoidable means to a
higher end — who will comprehend that right earnestly and
clearly ? — There must be something peculiar about me, that I
should have put up with all this so long already, and more-
over should still go on doing so. — The hideous part of it is
the growing more and more aware that really not one human
creature— certainly, no male— is quite sincerely and seriously
interested in me ; with Schopenhauer, I begin to doubt the
possibility of any genuine friendship, to rank as utter fable
what is dubbed so. People have no idea how little such a
friend is actually able to place himself in the other's position,
to say nothing of his mode of thought. But that, too, is
quite explainable: by the nature of things, this superlative
friendship can be nothing but an ideal ; whereas Nature, that
hoary old sinner and egoist, with the best of will— if she could

VENICE DIARY 53

possibly have it — can do no else than deem herself the
whole exclusive world in every individual, and merely acknow-
ledge the other individual so far as it flatters this illusion of
Self. — Tis so, and yet, one holds on ! God, what a worth
it must have, the thing for whose sake one holds on, with
such a knowledge ! —

October 5.

A while ago the Countess A. announced a " little
figure " that would soon arrive for me ; I didn't understand
her, and meantime finished reading Koppen's History of the
Religion of Buddha. An unedifying book : instead of
sterling features from the oldest legends, which I expected,
for the most part a mere account of development in girth,
which naturally turns out more and more repellent, the purer
and sublimer is the core. After being so thoroughly dis-
gusted by a detailed description of the ritual at last estab-
lished, with its relics and preposterous simulacra of the
Buddha, the "little figure" arrives, and proves to be a
Chinese specimen of one of these sacred effigies. My
abhorrence was great, and I could not conceal it from the
lady, who fancied she had hit the very thing.

One has much trouble in this distortion-loving world
to hold one's own against suchlike impressions, and keep
unwarped the pure-beheld ideal, everybody is so fond of
representing the noblest, if he cannot reach up to it, as
akin to himself, i.e. a parody. Nevertheless, in spite of the
Chinese caricature, 1 have succeeded in keeping pure to
myself the son of Qakya, the Buddha.

Yet I did find in that history one new, or hitherto
unheeded feature that was very welcome to me, and pro-
bably will lead to an important point It is this : — ^akya-
Muni at first was quite against the admission of women
into the community of the elect ; he repeatedly expresses

54 WAGNER TO MATmLDE WESENDONCK

the view that women are far tcx> subjected by Nature to
the sexual function, and consequently to caprice, wayward-
ness, and attachment to personal existence, ever to attain
that concentration and breadth of contemplation whereby the
unit cuts itself loose from the Natural drift, to arrive at
redemption. Now, it was his favourite pupil, Ananda — the
same to whom I had already assigned his rdle in my
" Sieger " * — , who finally induced the master to depart from
his severity and allow women also to be received into the
flock. — In that I have an uncommonly weighty gain ; with-
out the least forcing, my plot acquires a great and powerful
expansion. The difficulty here, was to adapt this entirely-
liberated mortal upraised above all passion, the Buddha
himself, for dramatic, and particularly for musical treatment.
It is solved at once by his attaining himself one final step
in evolution through acceptance of a new cognition ; which
is here conveyed to him — as all cognition — through no
abstract combination of ideas, but through intuitive
emotional-experience, namely by way of a shock to his
inner man, and therefore displays him in one final advance
to consummate perfection. Ananda, standing nearer to life
as yet, and directly affected by the young Tschandala maiden's
impetuous love, becomes the medium of this last perfecting.
— Ananda, deeply stirred, can reciprocate that love in none
save his, the highest sense, as desire to draw the loved one
up to him, to let her also share the last salvation. Herein
the master crosses him, not harshly, but deploring an error^
an impossibility ; finally, however, as Ananda in pro-
foundest sorrow believes he must give up hope, ^akya—
attracted by his compassion, and as it were by a last
fresh problem solution whereof has still detained him in
existence — feels moved to examine the girl. In her deepest

* See Richard Wagner's Prose Works, VIII. 385-6 ; the date of the
sketch is "Zurich, May 16, 1856."— Tr.

VENICE DIARY 55

distress^ of herself she comes to implore the master to wed
her to Ananda. He recites the conditions, renunciation of
the world, discardal of all the bonds of Nature. At the
final decree she is frank enough to lose all command of
herself; whereon there ensues (perhaps thou recall'st it?)
the opulent scene with the Brahmins who cast in his teeth,
as proof of the perverseness of his teaching, his intercourse
with such a girl. While denouncing every kind of human
pride, his growing interest in the maiden, whose prior
existences he reveals to herself and his opponents, reaches
such a pitch, that, when she — recognising in her own
sufferings the vast concatenation of the sufferings of the
world — declares herself ready to take any vow, he admits
her among the saints as if for his apotheosis, thus regarding
his world-career for the redeeming of all beings as finished,
since he has been able — directly — to accord redemption to
Woman also. —

Happy Sawitri I thou now durst follow thy beloved
everywhere, be ever near him, with him. Happy Ananda!
she is nigh thee now, won never to be lost ! —

My child, surely the glorious Buddha was right when
he sternly prohibited art. Who can feel more distinctly
than I, that it is this abominable art which forever gives
me back to the torment of life and all the contradictions
of existence? Were this strange gift not within me, this
strong predominance of plastic phantasy, clear insight might
make me obey my heart's dictate, and — turn into a saint;
and as saint I durst bid thee. Come, quit all that holds
thee, tear down the bonds of nature : at that price do I
point thee out the open road to healing ! — Then were we
free : Ananda and Sawitri I — But so it is not now, for see I
even this, this knowledge, this plain insight — , it makes
me ever and again but poet, artist. At the instant I attain
to it, it stands before me as an image, with the most lifelike,

5^ WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

sOuWfiiled visuaiity, but — an image that enraptures me.
Perforce I must regard it ever closer, ever more intimately,
to see into it still more definitely and deeply, sketch it,
execute it, breathe life into it as my own creation. For
that I need mood, elation, leisure, a comfortable sense of
having overcome the common, sordid needs of life ; and
all this I have to wrest from just this crabbed, refractory,
at all points hostile life, at which I can only get in its
own, its sole intelligible way. Thus, with self-reproach at
heart, I must incessantly be seeking to beat down mis-
understanding (which I feed myself), worry, want, vexation, —
merely to say what I see but cannot be ! Not to go under,
I look up to thee ; and the more 1 cry. Help, be near me ! —
the farther dost thou vanish, and a voice makes answer
tp me : " In this world, where thou burden'st thyself with
this want, to realise thine images, — in this world she belongs
not to thee ; for that which mocks thee, racks thee, ever-
lastingly misunderstands thee, it compasses even her about ;
to it she belongs, and it has a claim on her. Why does
she, too, delight in thine art ? Thine art belongeth to the
world, and she — belongeth likewise to the world." —

Oh, if ye foolish men of learning but understood the
great love-brimming Buddha, ye would marvel at the depth
of insight which shewed him the exercise of art as the
most certain of all pathways from salvation ! Believe me,
I know what I am saying !

Happy Ananda I Happy Sawitri !

October 6.

The piano has just arrived, been unpacked, and
set up. While it was being tuned, I read thy Spring diary
through again. There, too, the Erard figures. — I have been
very much moved since its arrival, for the history of this
instrument is full of meaning. Thou know'st how long

VENICE DIARY 57

I had wished for it in vain. Then last January, when I
went to Paris — thou know'st for why? — strange, how it
struck me to sue so actively for just such a piano ! Not one
of my projects did I take in earnest ; all was indifferent to
me ; nothing did I pursue with an atom of zeal. Yet it was
different with my visit to Frau Erard ; in presence of that
altogether dull, insignificant person I became rightdown
inspired, and transported her — as I heard thereafter — to
regular enthusiasm : with the turn of a wrist I won the
instrument, as if in fun. Odd instinct of nature, how it
comes out in every individual, according to his character,
as simply that of preservation of his life ! — The import
of that acquisition was soon to grow yet clearer to me.
On the 2nd of May, just ere thou too wast to start for
^ change of scene," and I must be left so wholly forlorn, —
the long-expected came to hand. While it was being set
in my room the weather outside was bad, raw and cold ;
I had abandoned every hope of seeing thee that day upon
the terrace. The piano was not quite fitted, when — of a
sudden — thou stepp'st from the billiard-room on to the front
balcony, sitt'st down on a chair, and look'st over here.
Then all was ready, I opened the window, and struck the
first chords ; but thou hadst no idea, as yet, that this was
the Erard. — For a month I saw thee no more, and in
that interval it became clearer and surer to me that we
must henceforth stay apart ! Then I should really and
truly have done with my life, but this wondrous soft,
sweet melancholy instrument wooed me right back to music
once more. So I called it the swan that had come to bear
poor Lohengrin home again ! — Thus did I begin the com-
position of the second act of Tristan. Life wove its web
around me like a dream of existence. — Thou retumedst;
we did not speak with one another, but my swan sang
across to thee. —

58 WAGNER TO BHATHILDE WESENDONCK

And now I've fared right forth from thee, the Alps
lie piled up heaven-high between us, it becomes ever clearer
to me how all must turn, how everything will be, and
that I now shall live a life no more. — Ah ! if the Erard
but came, it must help,— have I often thought — ^for, when
alPs said— things must be ! I had long to wait, but here
it is at last, that cunning tool with its lovely timbre, which
I won in those weeks when I knew that I should lose thy
presence. How symbolically plain my genie here speaks
to me, — my daemon 1 How unconsciously I erst happed
on the piano, yet my sly vital spark knew what it wanted !
— The piano ! — Ay, a wing,* — were it the wing of the angel
of death ! —

October 9.

I have begun — what with?

Of our songs I had only the pencilled jottings, often
entirely unworked up, and so faint that I was afraid of
clean forgetting them some day. So I first set to work
playing them over to myself again, and calling every detail
back to memory ; then I wrote them carefully out. Now
thou need'st not send me thine again ; I have them all
myself. —

So, that was my first task, my pinions are preened. —
Better than these songs have I never done, and very little
in my works will bear setting beside them.

"und lost dein Rathsel —
heil'ge Natur"— f

I had a strong mind to re-christen the " heil'ge Natur " —
the thought is right, but not the expression : Nature is no-

* "FlQgel," the ordinary German name for a "grand" pianoforte
also, on account of its shape. — ^Tr.

t The last words of " Stehe Still ! "— Tr.

VENICE DIARY 59

where holy, saving where she revokes and denies herself
— but for thy sake I have let it stand

October 12.

My friend Schopenhauer somewhere says : ^' It is
much easier to expose the faults and errors in a great mind's
work, than to give a complete and lucid exposition of its
value. For the faults are single things and finite, which
therefore can be fully surveyed ; but this, on the contrary,
is the stamp impressed by Genius on its works, that their
excellence is unfathomable and inexhaustible." —

I apply this saying with sincerest conviction to thy last
letter. What to me seemed erroneous therein was so easy
for me to review, and therefore at first I could deliver myself
on that alone : but the deep, divine and beautiful thereof is
so infinite and inexhaustible, that I can only enjoy it, not
speak about it even to thyself. What profound consolation,.
the only one possible, it affords me to know thee so high
and sublime, I can attest to thee through nothing save the
whole further and concluding tendence of my life. How its
outward course will shape, I certainly cannot foretell, for
that belongs to Fate ; but the inner core, from which to-
shape the dispensations of my outward fate, is settling in me
to a firm, clear consciousness, whose purport I will outline
here as well as I am able. —

My course of life till the time when I found thee, and
thou at last becamest mine, lies plain before me. The
nature of the world, in its contrast with my own, had been
making itself more and more painfully and cheerlessly clear
to me, and more and more consciously and definitely had

* Six pages, pp. 23-28, are missing from the manuscript [ — a hiatus-
probably to be explained by the nature of the reference to Mathilde's-
••last letter" in the next entry.— Tr.].

6o WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

I been withdrawing from my relations therewith, yet with-
out being ^ble as artist and indigent man entirely to snap
all bonds that chained me to. it I shunned men, since their
contact pained me, and sought with strenuous design for
isolation and retirement ; yet the more ardently did I cherish
the yearning to find in one heart, in one specific individual, the
sheltering, redeeming haven to harbour me entire and whole.
By the world's nature this could only be a loving woman :
«ven without having found her, that was bound to be clear
to my clairvoyant poet*s-eye ; and the sheer impossibility of
finding what I longed for in the friendship of a man, could
but be proved me by the noblest attempts thereat. Yet,
never did I dream that I should find what I sought so
absolute, so realising every wish, so satisfying every longing,
as I found it in thee. Once more : — that thou douldst hurl
thyself on every conceivable sorrow of the world, to say to
me " I love thee ! " — redeemed me, and won for me that
solemn pause • whence my life has gained another meaning.
But that state divine indeed was only to be won at cost
of all the griefs and pains of love : we have drunk them to
their dregs 1 — And now, after suffering every sorrow, being
spared no grief, now must the quick of that higher life
shew clear which we have won through all the suffering of
those birth-throes. In thee it lives so pure and sure already,
that I need only shew thee to thy joy, thy fellow-joy, what
shape it now takes in myself

The world is overcome; in our love, our sufferings, it
has overcome itself. No longer is it a foe that I flee, but
an object void of substance, indifferent to my will, towards
which I bear myself now without dread, without pain,
and therefore with no actual revulsion. I feel this ever
more distinctly, in that I no longer recognise the bent
to absolute retirement as theoretically strong in me. That

* " Stillestand "- see the word« of their song •* Stehe Still."— Tr.

VENICE DIARY 6r

bent itself had heretofore the sense of longing, seeking and
desiring: but that— -oh yes, I feel it! — is now completely
stilled ; the last issues between us have brought me the
clear consciousness that I have simply nothing more to.
seek, no more to yearn for. After the fulness wherewith
thou hast given thyself to me, I cannot call it resignation,,
still less despair. That reckless mood confronted me before
with exit [by death?] from all my seeking and yearning : from
its necessity, beatified by thee, I am redeemed. My feeling
is one of a sacred satiety; the bent is slain, because it is.
completely satisfied. — Informed with this consciousness, I
look afresh upon the world, which consequently dawns upon
me in an altogether new light ; for I have nothing more to.
seek in it, no more to discover a spot wherein I might be
sheltered from it. To me it has become quite an objective
spectacle like Nature, in which I see day come and
go, seeds of life sprout and decay, without feeling my
inner self dependent from that coming and going, that:
sprouting and decay ; I bear myself towards it almost,
solely as seizing and re-presenting artist, as a man who
feels and fellow-feels, yet without willing, seeking or striving,^
himself. Even in purely external regards I recognise this.
new relation, inasmuch as that craving, so weU known
to thee, for a lonely and sequestered dwelling-place has
practically left me; tho' I admit that the sad fruit of'
experience has had its share in that. For what could best
have met my fondest wishes, in that sense, yet left me in
the end unsatisfied ; since it was precisely there I had to.
learn from our severance, and the necessity of that severance,.
that the longed asylum neither can nor ever shall be
furnished me.

And where in the world now, should I will to found
myself a fresh asylum? When I left the fatal last one, I
became entirely insensible to such a wish. — On the contrary,.

62 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

I feel so strengthened and soothed in my inmost depth
now, so sheltered and protected from all the world by the
•everlasting, inviolable and indestructible haven I've won
in thy heart, that from its refuge, which accompanies me
throughout the world, I can look with calmly pitying smile
upon this world ; to which I may now belong without a
shudder, just because I belong thereto no more — no more
as suffering, but merely as fellow-suffering subject. Where-
fore I now yield myself completely wish-less to the figuration
of my outward fate, submissive to it just as it may hap.
I strive for nothing : what presents itself, and is not against
my deep enlightenment, I shall tranquilly take, without
hope, but also without despair, and go on proffering to
the world, as well as the world permits, the best I can,
untroubled for reward, ay, even for understanding. — Following
this tranquil trend (the fruit of endless battles with the
world, and finally of my redemption through thy love!),
presumably I shall some day pitch my tent where ample
artistic means are to be had without my needing first to
fash myself for their procuring (to me the game no longer
is serious enough for that !), so that I may give myself a
periodic hearing of my works according as the spirit moves
me. Naturally, any kind of " position " or " appointment "
could not even remotely enter my plans. Neither, for that
matter, have I the slightest preference for this or that
particular spot ; for — nowhere shall I seek again for some-
thing definite or individual, to say nothing of intimate :
from that craving, in truth, I am freed ! On the contrary,
I shall simply grasp whatever allows me the most general,
maybe even the most superficial, bearings towards my sur-
roundings ; and that is like to come the easier, the larger
is the place. I haven't the remotest idea of withdrawing
into any sort of intimacy, e.g. to Weimar; in fact, such a
thought is distinctly repugnant to me. For I can only

VENICE DIARY 63

act up to my deeply settled attitude towards the world
by taking men quite in the general, without any sort or
kind of closer individual relationship; an endeavour like
that at Zurich, where I tried to draw each single creature
to me, can never attract me again. —

There thou hast the main features of my frame of mind.
What will come of it outwardly — as said — I cannot predeter-
mine, as it also is indifferent to my deepest soul. Of any-
thing permanent for my future I do not think at all : while
striving after permanence I grew so used to change, that I
the more willingly yield the latter play now, the less I have
a — wish.

How our personal intercourse, thine and mine, will shape
itself — the only question left to agitate me — I suppose we
must also leave, my love, to Fate.

Here lies, in truth, the one sore point, the thorn of
sufFring and of bitterness toward others, who make the
heavenly boon of nearness impossible for us, without securing
for themselves the smallest gain thereby ! Here we are not
free, but hang from those to whom we sacrifice ourselves and
to whom we turn back, with the one great sacrifice at
heart, to exert on them our next compassion. Thou wilt
bring up thy children : — accept my full blessing thereon !
5houldst thou have joy of them and their flourishing, I shall
overlook towards thee with naught but deep contentment. — *
Haply also we shall meet again, yet meseems but as in
dream at first — like two departed spirits that meet on the
scene of their sufferings, once more to feast on the look, the

* See the letter of some few days later to Otto : — •' My last words to
your wife were my blessing on the rearing of your children." — Letters to
-OUo Wesendanck, p. 43. — Tr.

)64 WAGNER TO BHATHILDE WESENDONCKl

pressure of the hand, that raised them from this world to wfn
them Heaven. If perchance — by cause of my profound
appeasement — a green old age be granted me, perhaps 'tis
yet reserved me to return for good to thy proximity, some
day when every pang of jealousy is overcome. The " Asyl '*"
then might yet become a truth at last. Maybe I then should
even need some tending : I am sure it would not be denied
me. Perhaps — one morn thou yet wouldst step through the
green workroom to my bedside, and with one parting kiss
receive my spirit in thine arms. — And thus my diary would:
close as it began. — Yes, my child, so let this diary be closed
herewith I It offers thee my suffering, my lifting up, my
struggles, my looks into the world, and over all — my ever-
lasting love to thee I Entreat it kindly, and forgive me if on
any page it opens up a wound. —

I shall now return to "Tristan," to let the deep art
of sounding silence there speak for me to thee. As for
present things, the great isolation and retirement in which
I live refreshes me : in it I'm collecting my sorely shattered
vital forces. Already since a little while I enjoy the boon,,
almost never known by me to this extent, of deep and
quiet sleep at night : would I could give it to everyone t
This I shall enjoy till my amazing work has thriven to
completion ; not until then will I look around for once, to
see what face the world presents to me. The Grand Duke
of Baden has [?] effected thus much, that I may return awhile
to Germany for the personal production of a new work ^
perhaps I shall make use of it for the Tristan. Till then
I stay alone with that in my dream-world turned to life here.

If aught occurs to me worth telling, I shall jot it down^
store it up, and thou shalt receive it as soon as thou wishest.
We shall give each other tidings of ourselves as frequently
as possible? They can do naught but delight us now, for
all is crystal-pure between us, and no misunderstandings

VENICE DIARY 65

110 mistake, can cumber us again. So fare thee well, my
heaven, my redemptrix, my pure, angelic love, farewell !
Be blessed from the devoutest depth of my soul !

\Here ends the first diary ^ despatched forthwith^

Venice 1858.

October 18.

A year ago to-day we had a beautiful day at the
Willes'. It was the season of wonders, we were celebrating

the 1 8th of September [completion of the Tristan poem]. As We

returned from our walk and were mounting the hill thy
husband offered Frau Wille his arm, so I also might offer
thee mine. We spoke of Calderon : how well he served I
Indoors I went straight to the new grand piano: myself,
I did not understand how I could play so finely. — It was
a glorious, a glutting day — ^hast thou kept it to-day?
Oh, that fair time had to bloom for us once! It passed —
but the flower fades not ; that breathes its everlasting
perfume in our souls. —

A letter from Liszt arrived also to-day, and gave me
great joy ; so that — with fine weather here too — I'm in
quite a calmly-cheerful mood. I had written him lastly
on various tender points : I had to, as he really is so dear
to me, and I therefore felt candour a duty ; and behold, he
answers me with unwavering gentleness. From this beautiful
experience I learn that I have not to repent my recognition
of the impossibility of a perfect friendship such as floats
before us as ideal ; since it has by no means made me
insusceptible, but on the contrary, all the more grateful
and sensible to what presents itself as some approach to
that ideal. Between Liszt's intelligential character and my
own there is so great and essential a difference, that the

66 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

difficulty — I must believe, in fact, impossibility — of making
myself understood of him, often tortures me and drives me
into bitter irony: but here love steps so beautifully in,
with its very own allowances and satisfactions, that Tm
half inclined to think warm friendship possible twixt man
and man only when their modes of view are different
For it really is this friendly feeling alone, that can bring
about agreement in the male sex : probably they never
will fully concur in their views, or at most when they are
insignificant persons and their views relate to common
everyday things ; if they touch on something higher and
uncommon, it could wellnigh only be a case of the equations
of practical logic, such as may occur in the sphere of
science : the true glow of friendship, however, first enters
at the very point where differences are equalised thereby
and shewn to have no importance, as it were by a higher
intervener. This s^reeable feeling I have repeatedly received
through Liszt before ; yet I will not deny, that — on calm
reflection — I think it well we should never be long and
close together, since I should then have to fear too strong
a salience of our dissimilarity : at a distance we gain very
much to each other. —

But we — : far and near, we are united — mated — one ! —

October 24.

How much I hang from thee. Beloved, I again have
felt most keenly at this serious time. My mood of deep and
beautiful tranquillity I had really won through thee alone :
I knew thee so serene and lofty, that I could but be it too.
And then this mourning, this woeful suffering, to know thee
smitten with the loss of thy little boy : * how everything

* Guido, born Sept. 13, 1855, died Oct. 13, 1858. [See the beautiful
epistle of condolence in the Letters to Otto Wesendonck^ cf. note to
page 63 w/.— Tr.]

VENICE DIARY 67

of a sudden was changed ! All pride, all calm, dissolved so
swiftly into fear and trembling; deep trouble, weeping and
lamenting; the built-up world all tottering, my gaze on
it blurred by tears. Truly, an outer Power has come once
more to knock at the gate of our hearts and prove if all is
right within. It has been a time of seriousness ; thou wilt
recognise that only with an effort, wellnigh not at all, could
I think of my work in days like these? — Yet from that
I don't infer that there is something amiss with me ; rather
is it growing clear to me that even this work is merely one
utterance of my being, which has other, surer channels of
expression at command. I am able to suffer and mourn
with thee : could I do aught finer, when thou art suffering
and mourning?

Now let me hear from thee soon, that I may behold thee
with utmost distinctness in this trial of so grave a meaning !
What thou tell'st to me, as everything that comes from thee,
will teach me and enrich me with a noble gain. Speak to
me out of that feeling which habituates itself to embrace the
whole world, wherein thy child with its existence — its tender
death — was held as well ; be sure of being kindly and
devoutly understood of me in everything ! — Thou poor dear
child !—

October 31, evening.

Dost not know, then, my child, that I depend from
thee alone— from thee alone — that the earnest cheerfulness
which closed the diary sent to thee was a mere mirror of
thy beauteous mood as told to me ? O, hold me not so great
that I could be what and how I am entirely of and through
myself! How deeply I feel that now, when unspeakable
grief and woe have cloven me to the midriff ! — I have received
thy packet, read thy diary, thine answer, — dost really not yet
know, then, how I live on thee alone? Didst not believe

68 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

it, when I had it told thee but lately again ? * To be like
thee, worthy of thee, is the holdfast of my life ! So do not
chide me if I once more tell thee, I am altogether as thyself,
feel as thou, entirely share thy every mood, thy faintest grief,
not merely because it is thine, but because it so clearly and
surely is also my own ! — Hast forgotten how we wrote each
•other when I was in Paris,t and that joint lament burst
simultaneously from our hearts, after we had told each other
our resolves as if inspired ? So it still is, so will it remain,
for ever and ever! — Everything is WaAn, everything self-
delusion ! We are not made, to square the world to us. O
thou dear angel of pellucid truth, be blest for thy heavenly
love ! O, I knew all ; what fearsome days did I live through,
what waxing apprehension ! The world was at a stop, to
me, and I could breathe but when I felt thy breath. — O my
rsweet, sweet girl, I cannot comfort thee to-day, poor doleful,
"broken-down man that I am ! Neither can I give thee balm,
and — **have I indeed no healing for thee?" How should
I have power to give thee healing ? My tears are flowing in
full salt streams — : might t/iey have power to heal thee ? —
I know, they are the tears of love, of such love as never was
before : in them flows all the lamentation of the world, and
yet the only rapture I would fain experience now, to-day,
they give to me ; they give me a deep, deep inward certitude,
an inexpugnable, inalienable right, for they are the tears of
my eternal love to thee. Might such tears heal thee? — O
heavens ! more than once I have been on the point of starting^
to come into thy precincts : have I refrained out of care
for myself? Nay ! oh, nay ; but of care — for thy children !
Wherefore — once again — and ever : courage ! — 'tis needed for
a while yet. Methinks — methinks — I might — ere long present

* See the letter of Sept. 30 to Frau Wille, p. 86.— Tr.
t Last January ; the letters are not preserved.

VENICE DIARY

myself more fairly to thee, more acceptably, worthier of thee :
and how gladly would I ! — but what boots Would ? —

No ! no ! sweet child, I know all ! I understand all : —

I see clear, clear as day ! Fm going mad ! — Let

me break off now I Not to seek rest, but to deliver myself
over to drowo in the rapture of my grief! — O my precious!

— Nay ! Nay ! He'll not betray thee. Not —

he!—

November i.

To-day is All Souls* day! —
I woke out of brief, but deep sleep, after long and
fearful sufferings such as I never had suffered before. I
stood upon the balcony, and peered into the Canal flowing
black below; a tempest was raging, my leap, my fall,
would have been noticed by no one. I were free of torments,
once I sprang, and I clenched my fist to mount the
hand-rail. — Could I — with my sight on thee, — upon thy
children ? —

Now All Souls' day has broken ! —
All Souls ! peace be with you ! —

Now I know it still is granted me to die within thine
arms! Yes, I know it! — — I shall see thee soon
again : certainly by the Spring ; perchance the middle of
this winter. —

See, my child, the last sting has left my soul!

I can bear anything now. We soon shall meet ^ain ! —

Place no reliance on my art ! I have discovered all
about it now : 'tis no solace, no compensation to me ; it
is simply the accompanist of my deep harmony with thee,
the fosterer of my wish to perish in thine arms. When the
Erard arrived, it could lure me only since thy deep un-
faltering love shone out more fixt and brightly on me after
the storm than ever : with thee I can do all things — without

70 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

thee nothing, nothing ! Don't let thyself be cheated even
by the expression of calm serenity that concluded my last
diary ; it was nothing but the reflex of thine own fair,
noble elevation. Everything falls asunder with me, so soon
as I espy the slightest want of harmony between us; believe
me, only one ! — thou hold'st me in thy hands, and with thee
alone can I — achieve. —

So, after this terrible night I pray thee : — Have trust in
me, unconditional, boundless trust! And that but means
again : Believe that with t/iee I can do all things, wit/tout
thee nothing ! —

So thou knowest who disposes of myself, my acts and
sufferings ; 'tis thou, e'en when I'm seized with foolish
qualms about thee. And thus, too, am I sure of thee ; thou
wilt not forsake me, not turn a deaf ear on me, but
guide me loyally through want and misery. Thou canst
not else : this night I have won a fresh claim on thee — thou
canst not know me given back to life, to grudge me any
act of grace. So help me, then ! and I will help thee
loyally too. —

Help me also to bear the frightful load that weighs on my
heart ! — A load it is ; but on my heart it weighs. — Yesterday
I received from a reliable physician the exact report on
my wife's illness [see p. xiv] : she seems past saving. She is
threatened with development of dropsy in the chest :
increasing, perhaps protracted, but ever more agonising
pain, with death for sole prospect of rescue. The only
thing to ease and make it bearable, is utmost quiet,
avoidance of all moral agitation. — Help me to tend the
unfortunate ! True, I shall only be able to do it from a
distance, since I myself must deem remoteness from her
the aptest of means. When I'm near her, I become in-
capable of it : my presence, moreover, is bound to upset
her ; only at a distance can I calm her, as I then can

VENICE DIARY 71

choose my time and mood so as ever to be mindful of
my task towards her. But neither can I do that, unless —
thou help'st me. I must not know thy heart bleeding; I
must not feel myself in the misery of being able to offer
thte no physic for thy wounds ! That breaks me in a
thousand pieces, and leads me thither whence I returned
last night to thee once more! Thou understandest me,
my angel, dost thou not? Thou know'st that I am thine,
and thou alone disposest of my actions, steps, my thoughts
and resolutions ? Do not scruple to acknowledge it — for
so it is! No Swan can help me, if thou help'st me not:
nothing has sense or meaning, save through thee ! O believe
it, believe it ! — So, if I bid thee, Help me, help me to this
or that, I merely mean : Believe that through thee alone
can I do aught, and naught without thee ! That is the
whole secret. — I have become more deeply cognisant thereof
than ever. Since the death of thy little son, it has stood
sadly with my work ; then I saw right clearly that it was no
comfort to me, but merely the expression of the lone man
who felt himself made one with thee and had not to distress
himself about thee. Ah, that*s why it long has gone hard
with it : in truth, 'tis but a game to me ; my true earnest
abides not therewith, as it never was really quite in it, but
over and away from it, in what I yearned for, and now in
what alone still makes me capable of life and art-work !
O believe ! believe me that thou alone art my earnest !
— Last night, when I drew my hand back from the rail
of the balcony, it was not my art that withheld me !
In that terrible instant there shewed itself to me with well-
nigh visual distinctness my life's true axis, round which
my resolution whirled from death to new existence : it was
Thou! — Thou! — Like a smile the thought stole over me:
Were it not sweeter to die in her arms? —

72 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Be not vexed with me, my child: "Die Thrane quillt,
die Erde hat mich wieder ! " • — All Souls' day ! The day
of resurrection ! —

I'm writing Heim to-day, to retain me the free pass for
the Erard, after all ; I think of making use of it, some day,
to take the instrument back into Switzerland duty-free.
The swan has lost much of its meaning since last night ;
it is hardly worth my promising thee delight therefrom in
future ! —

Our lot is hard, very hard, my beloved child ; yet in
exchange, we're rich enough to be able to pay each debt
of life and still keep for ourselves the most infinite gain.
But thou'lt not be dumb towards me, wilt thou? — and —
if I cannot "heal" thee, at least thou'lt not despise my
" balm " ?—

We shall see each other soon.

Farewell !

All Souls' day !
Farewell ! —
And wish roe well I —

November 24, Venice.

Karl [Ritter] has left me for a while, to congratulate
his sick mother on her birthday ; he will come back shortly.
At our parting he much affected me, the queer creature
could hardly tear himself away. I really think, whoever has
been much with me in these last months, must have derived
a good impression ; certainly I have never been so clear
in everything, as now, or felt so little bitterness, wellnigh
none at all. Who knows so surely that he has nothing
left to seek, and henceforth but to give, is really also re-
conciled to all the world ; for his quarrel with it had

♦ ** Tears flow, the earth regains me"— Goethe's Faust^Tr,

VENICE DIARY 73

consisted simply in his seeking something, where nothing
could be given him. And how does one attain this wonder-
gift of Giving ? To be sure, but through one's own desiring
nothing more oneself: he who is conscious that the only
happiness to touch the bottom of his heart lies quite beyond
the power of the world to give him, at last feels, too, how
justified it is in refusing what it cannot give. But what do
we signify by the World ? In our sense, all those human
beings who are practically able to give to themselves what
their happiness asks: honour, fame, property, smooth wed-
lock, diverting society. Possession in every shape; and who
does not attain it, scolds the world for his pains. But how
ill were it of us, to scold the world, since we truly ask
naught of all that it can give and take at its good
pleasure! So I pityingly turn my gaze back to mankind,
and rejoice in the gifts which allow me the power of
comforting where Illusion lays up sorrow for itself. Who
stands so high, however, so wondrously upraised above the
world, should also under no condition ask aught of it, or
aught accept of it, but what upraises and endows the giver's
self through that acceptance. If, on the contrary, we craved
of it an actual sacrifice, felt by it as such— something it
grudged to give, — that ought to shew us at once that we
had descended from our plateau, and were in act of some-
what derogating from our dignity. This, too, was the mean-
ing of the Buddhist mendicancy; the monk, who had re-
nounced all possessions, quietly took his station in the
streets and before men's houses, to bless those who should
tender him alms by acceptance thereof What would the
pious renunciant have thought of himself, if he had had to
wring a gift from an unwilling giver, perchance to stay his
hunger ; his, to whom hunger was a devotional exercise ?
I was glad to find my mind already clear about this
doctrine of giving and receiving, when I had to answer the

74 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

letter of a friend on the Lake of Zurich not long since.*
How despicable, eh I how criminal would that have been
which in that evil sense I should have had to extort from
the spirit of the world itself, a spirit which would believe
itself making a concession to me at the very time I fancied
it raised up to me by my high opinion of it How proud
I was then, but not bitter; the Buddhist beggar had
stationed himself before the wrong house, and hunger
became a devotion : where I dreamed of rendering happy,
one thought of being called to sacrifice oneself to me.
Needed it more, than to recognise that error ? And had I to
renounce my last breath of life, what lives within me stays
pure and divine if no sacrifice of the World's attaches to it
This is the knowledge — this the will — that magnifies us
so, that gives us the stupendous power of feeling pain itself
no more, and — making hunger a devotion.

— I had a winter-journey in view. That is abandoned,
but I see the world still clearer now ; with each devotion
my spirit strengthens to a power of working miracles. I
must have much control over people now : that I judged
by Karl, when he said goodbye for a little while. — I am not
always quite well, still my mood for the most part stays
bright and unruffled, nor can I help smiling when Kobold-
chen flits t : I heard its rattle yesterday again. —

December i.

Here have I been, poor wretch, confined to my
room once more for a week, and this time even to my chair,

* There can be little doubt that the said '* friend" was Fran9ois
Wille, if one compares these few sentences with the letter of Sept.
30 to Frau Eliza — vid. inf, p. 87. Their meaning, of course, is impos-
sible to define precisely, but it looks as though Dr. Wille had bluntly
declined a proffered visit ; see also p. 144. — Tr.

t Sec Grimms' fairy-tale, referred to in letter 42. — ^Tr.

VENICE DIARY 75

from which I dare not rise, and out of which I have to
be carried to bed of nights. Yet it is nothing more than
an outward affliction, which I even regard as altogether
determinant of my health ; so that my condition even fills
me with hope of being able to keep to my work quite un-
disturbed in future, whereas its interruption was the main
thing that made my previous illnesses so insufferable to me. —
At such times my intellect is always wide awake, plans
and sketches actively engage my fancy ; this time it was
philosophic problems that engrossed me. Of late I have
slowly been reading friend Schopenhauer's chief work
straight through again, and this time it has extraordinarily
incited me to expansion and even— on some points — amend-
ment of his system. The subject is uncommonly weighty,
and perhaps it had to be reserved for my peculiar nature,
precisely at this quite peculiar epoch in my life, to arrive
at insights which could open to no other man. For it is
a matter of demonstrating a path of salvation recognised
by none of the philosophers, particularly not by Sch., —
the pathway to complete pacification of the Will through
love, and that no abstract love of mankind, but the love
which actually blossoms from the soil of sexual love, i.e.
from the affection between man and woman. It is conclusive,
that I am able to use for this (as philosopher, — not as poet,
since as such I have my own) the terminology which Sch.
himself supplies me. The exposition leads very deep and
far, for it embraces a preciser explanation of the state in
which we become able to apprehend Ideas, as also of that
of Genius {Genialitdt)y which I no longer conceive as a state
of disengagement of the intellect from the will, but rather
as an enhancement of the intellect of the individual to a
cognitive organ of the race itself {Erkenntnissorgan der
Gattung\ thus of the Will as Thing-in-itself ; whence alone,
moreover, is to be explained that strange enthusiastic

76 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

joyfulness and rapture in the supreme moments of geni-al
cognition which Sch. seems hardly to know, as he can
find it [i.e. that mode of cognition] only in repose and in the silenc-
ing of the individual passions. Quite analogously to this
conception, I then arrive with greatest certainty at proving
in Love a possibility of attaining to that exaltation above
the instinct of the individual will where, after complete
subjection of this latter, the racial will comes to full con-
sciousness of itself; which upon this height is necessarily
tantamount to complete pacification. All this will be made
clear even to the inexperienced, if my statement succeeds ;
whilst the result cannot but be very significant, and entirely
and satisfactorily fill the gaps in Schopenhauer's system.
We will see if I'm in the mood for it some day. — •

December 8.

To-day I have been into the open air again for
the first time. Tm not completely well yet, nevertheless this
last illness — in which I really was quite helpless, as I could
not stir a foot— has enlightened me about myself quite
satisfactorily, through the experiences reaped from it. Karl
has been away nearly 3 weeks [p. 72], so that I had almost

* The idea, so far as it touches Love, seems never to have been
worked out farther than the following fragment of an uncompleted letter,
never sent to Schopenhauer, which made its posthumous appearance in
the Bayreuther Blditer 1886, and now is definitively dated by the above: —

" Metaphysics of Sexual Love, — ' Each year presents us with one or
another case of concerted suicide of a loving, but outwardly impeded
pair. To myself it nevertheless remains inexplicable, how two persons
assured of mutual love, and anticipating the utmost bliss from its fruition,
should not rather adopt the extremest steps to extricate themselves from
all relations and suffer any ignominy, than give up with their lives a
happiness beyond which they can conceive of no greater' [Welt als
IVille u. V. ii. § 44].

" It flatters me to suppose that you really have not yet discovered
any explanation of this, as it tempts me to connect with such a point

VENICE DIARY ^^

nobody to talk with except my doctor and the servants ;
oddly also, I never felt the least desire for company, but
quite the reverse. When a Russian prince here • — whom
I could not quite shake off, and who combines a right
good-heartedness with much intelligence, particularly in
respect of music — came to call on me one day, I was heartily
glad at bottom when he left ; I always feel it a useless,
altogether profitless exertion, to— entertain myself with
anybody. On the other hand, Tm always glad to see the
servants ; here the still naive man appeals to me, with all
his faults and merits. And they have tended me right well,
in fact with some self-sacrifice, for which I am very grateful :
Kurwenal, for once, stands nearer me than MeloL Moreover,
communications from without kept silent almost all the
time, the postman hardly ever shewed his face. When
I reached the Piazza to-day in the gondola, the whole place
was swarming with life and colour ; but I have chosen an
hour for dining when I'm sure of being quite alone in
the restaurant, so I slipped unnoticed through the motley
throng once more, back to my gondola, and fared down the
silent canal to my earnest palace. The lamp is burning.

to submit to you a view whereby I think I can see in the beginnings of
sexual love itself one path of salvation, to self-knowledge and self-denial
of the Will, and that not merely of the Individual will.

*' You alone supply me with the terminology whereby my view may
be imparted philosophically; and, in attempting to make my meaning
clear, I rely on nothing but what I have learnt through yourself. Please
attribute it to my inexpertness, perhaps also to my inaptitude for
dialectics, if it is only by a circuitous route — and in particular, by first
reciting the highest and most perfect instance of that resolution of the
Will which I refer to — that I arrive at an explanation of the case adduced
by you ; which, again, I can only regard as an imperfect and lower grade
of that other."

Combining the two passages, we could wish for no completer refuta-
tion of the ''Tristan and Isolde *' slanderers old and new. — Tr.

* Prince Dolgorucki ; see letter 58a, also of Nov. 21 to Liszt. — Tr,

78 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

everything is so still and grave around me; and within
the sure, unequivocal feeling that this is the world for me,
from which my longing can reach forth no more without
grief and self-deception. So I feel happy in it ; the servants
often catch me in the blithest humour, and then Tm fond
of joking with them. —

With reading, too, I stay most limited ; little tempts me.
In the long run I always hark back to my Schopenhauer,
who has led me to the most remarkable trains of thought,
as lately indicated, in amendment of some of his imperfec-
tions. The theme becomes more interesting to me every
day, for it is a question here of explications such as I alone
can give, since there never was another man who was poet
and musician at once in my sense, and therefore to whom
an insight into inner processes has become possible such
as could be expected of no other.* —

I meant also to read Humboldt's Letters to a Lady friend,
but could only get the booklet of Elisa Mayer, about him
and with extracts from him. I laid this little tract down
much dissatisfied : unmistakably the best of it was what tny
lady-friend already had extracted from it for me. Whoever
knows Humboldt well, will certainly make acquaintance
with a very able scientific student and inquirer. As man,
too, he must have been most pleasing and attractive ; I
cannot quarrel with Schiller for having frequented his
society ; such a man would have been very valuable to
myself. Productive minds need closer contact with such
decidedly receptive natures, were it only because one often
wants to give of oneself unchecked ; whereas one easily
consoles oneself for discovering, on a final valuation, that

* To this period must accordingly be assigned at least that jotting
found among the Posthumous papers, •* The great joy," etc., Prose Works
VIII. p. 391 ; whilst the larger subject gets developed at length in the
Beethoven essay (1870). — Tr.

VENICE DIARY 79

the assumption of one's having been quite grasped was
really nothing, after all, but our own good faith. As a fact,
Humboldt didn't comprehend much of the essence of things ;
there he remains decidedly shallow and ordinary, and this
parson-like cant about Providence and the kind God is a
little surprising in the intimate friend of Schiller, the pupil
of Kant. I very soon saw that this man, too, was one of
those of whom Jesus said : it is easier for a camel to go
through a needle's eye, than for them to enter the kingdom
of Heaven ! The perpetually-recurrent ensurance of his easy
circumstances is positively droll : to two inherited fortunes
he weds two others, and further receives from the State
the present of a fifth; robust and well brought up, he
marries young a wife he can love with full sincerity until
his death: add to all which a lively mind, an era of
Schiller and Goethe, and I should say one couldn't be more
luckily equipped by " Providence " ; neither for his becoming
a statesman and diplomat, one hopes, had he Providence
to blame. — The more touching and affecting, however, is
the love of this man, and his gentle exit from the world.
Above all, / thank him for one deep and final anodyne,
through a tiny immaterial saying which my lady-friend,
however, repeated to me with so wondrous beautiful an
accent of innocence that those few lines have made a great
impression on me, pointing out the only path to hope : it
was the passage about "confidence" and "confidences." —

Since yesterday I have been occupied with the Tristan
again. I'm in the second act still, but — what music it's
becoming! I could work my whole life long at this music
alone. O, it grows deep and fair, and the sublimest marvels
fit so supply to the sense ; I have never made a thing like
this ! But I also am melting away in this music ; I'll hear
of no more, when it's finished. In it will I live for aye,
and with me —

8o WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

December 22.

A lovely morning, dear child !
For three days had I been plodding at the passage
" Wen du umfangen, wem du gelacht " and " In deinen
Armen, dir geweiht," etc. — I had been long interrupted, and
could not find the corner in my memory for its working
out ; it made me seriously uneasy. I could get no farther, —
when Koboldchen tapped, it shewed its face to me as
gracious Muse, and in an instant the passage was clear ; I sat
down to the piano, and wrote it off as rapidly as if I had
known it by heart for ever so long. A severe critic will
find a touch of reminiscence in it : the '* Traume " flit close by ;
but thou'lt forgive me that — my sweetheart! — Nay, ne'er
repent thy love of me : 'tis heavenly ! —

1859.

January i.

Nay ! ne'er repent them, those caresses wherewith
thou deck'dst my threadbare life : I had not known them,
those flowers of bliss, bloomed from the purest soil of noblest
love ! What I had dreamt as poet, was destined once to
turn out for myself so wondrous true, on the common clay
of my earthly existence was destined once to fall that
gentle quick'ning and refreshing dew : I never had hoped
it, and yet it is to me as if I still had known it Now
am I raised to nobility, I have received the highest badge
of knighthood ; at thy heart, in thine eye, by thy lips —
have I been raised out of the world, every inch of me now
is free and noble. As with holy awe at my lordship, I'm
thrilled through and through with the sense of having been
loved by thee with such abundance, so exquisitely tenderly,
and yet so altogether chastely! — Ah, I still breathe it, the
magic fragrance of those blooms thou pluck'dst me from thy

VENICE DIARY 8l

heart ! They were not buds of life : so smell the wonder-
blooms of heavenly death, of life eternal ; so decked they of
yore the hero's corse, ere it was burnt to godlike ashes. Into
that grave of flames and perfumes leapt his loved one,
to mingle her beloved's ashes with her own — and they were
one ! One element, not two loving mortals : one divine
ur-substance of eternity ! — Nay, ne'er repent those flames ;
their fire was radiant, pure and white! No lurid glow, no
fumes, no acrid vapour soiled it aye, the clear chaste flame
that shone for no one yet so pure and so transfiguring as for
us, and therefore also none can know of. — Thy caresses —
they are the crown of my life, the sweet roses that blossomed
from the wreath of thorns wherewith alone my head was
clad. Now am I proud and happy I Not a wish, not a
longing! Delight, supreme consciousness, strength and
aptitude for everything, for every storm of life ! — Nay ! nay,
repent them not ! Repent them ne'er ! —

January 8.

O Tag! Du aller guter Geister Gott

Sei mir gegrusst!
Gegriisst nach langer Nacht! —
Bringst Du von ihr mir Kunde? — •

lApril 4.
Lucerne.

The dream of Wiedersehen is dreamt ; so — have
we met again. Was it not in reality naught but a dream ?
These hours I have passed in thy house, in what do they

• " O Day, thou god of all good spirits I I greet thee, greet thee after
weary Night !— Bringest me word of her ? '*— Tr.

82 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

differ from that other dream I erewhile dreamed so fondly
of my coming back? Almost it stands before me more
distinct, than the triste reality to which my memory will lend
itself so little. To me, it is as if I actually had not seen
thee plainly at all ; thick mists lay between us, through
which scarce pierced the sound of voices. Also it is to me
as if thou actually didst not see myself ; as if, in my stead; a
ghost had come into thy house. Didst recognise me? — O
heavens ! I recognise it : this is the road to sanctity ! Life,
reality, ever more dreamlike, the senses numbed ; the eye —
wide open — sees no more, — the willing ear foi^oes all echo
of the Present ; where we are, we see each other not ; only
where we are not, rests each's gaze on each. Thus is the
Present non-extant, and all our Future null. — Is my work
really worth my preserving myself for? — But thou, thy
children?— Let us live! —

And when I read on thine own face the traces of so great
a suffering, when I pressed to my lips thy shrunk hand— a
deep throb shot through me, and called me to a finer duty.
Our love's miraculous power has helped till now ; it
strengthened me to win the possibility of a return ; it taught
me this dreamlike oblivion of all the Present, enabling me to
approach thy presence undeterred thereby ; it quenched all
my chagrin and bitterness, so that I could kiss the very
threshold which permitted me to pass to thee: so let me
trust it ! It will also teach me to see thee plainly once again,
e'en through the veil — which we have donned as penitents—
to shew myself as well to thee all bright and clear ! —

Thou heavenly saint, have trust in me !

I shall be able ! —

VENICE LETTERS

SEPT. 1858 TO MARCH 1859

•w •# •#

68.

Venice, Sept. 30, 58.

To Frau Eliza Wille.*

Believe me, dear honoured Lady, I must keep tight hold
on myself, to hold out at all ! Almost every hour I have
cause to remind myself: Sit tight! otherwise all flies
asunder ! — The one thing now left me is isolation, complete
seclusion. It is my only comfort, only rescue; and yet
it's so unnatural, especially for me, who am so fond of
unrestrained communication. However — unnatural is just
the word for everything about me. I have no experience
what family, relatives — children are : my wedlock has been
nothing but a trial of my patience and pity. — By me no
friend is thinkable, to whom I could fully unbosom myself
without repenting it ; every day I become more aware how
misunderstood I always am, wholesale and retail ; and an
inner voice, the voice of my truest nature, assures me it
were better if I relentlessly freed, not only myself, but also
my friends, from all illusion in that regard —

For, the whole world is nothing if not practical ; but
with me the ideal gains such reality that it makes out
my true life, and I can bear no jot thereof to be disturbed.
Thus, arrived at my forty-sixth year, Tm forced to see that

* " An die Freundin Frau Eliza Wille." As the original of this letter is
missing, presumably the superscription is an addition of Frau Mathilde's.
The Willes lived on the opposite side of the Lake of Zurich, but had
become intimate with the Wesendoncks, probably through Wagner
himself. See also the letters to Frau Wille published together with the
Lttters to Otto Wesmdonck\—1x.

85'

86 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

solitude must be my only solace and I must stand alto-
gether alone. Tis so and I cannot deceive myself, 'tis this
insight that keeps me from collapse, and were I once to act
against it, I know I should be utterly lost : then bitter
ire would deluge everything. So my motto is simply, Hold
out — hold thy tongue ! * —

When fancy gets full play at last, then things will go ;
and niental work indemnifies, so long as it proceeds un-
troubled. But mind, in the long run, always feeds upon
heart : and how waste that region stands with me ! —

All foreign and cold around ! No lulling, not a look,
no soothing sound. I have sworn not even to procure
myself a little dog : it shall never be that IVe a pet about
me.; — After all, she has her children! —

Nay, but that is no reproach, merely a moan ; and I
think she likes to take me as I am, moaning and all. True,
I have my art! Yet even that affords me no delight, and
I can but shudder if I look away from my work to the
world it will have to belong to; a world that only in the
most repulsive mangling can make it its own! —

Yes, I ought not to think on it, as on so much else:
I know that. Wherefore I also don't mean to, but keep
on calling to myself : Sit tight ! it must be ! Go it must — and
go it shall !—

Indeed she helps me charmingly ! What a heavenly
letter was that you sent me to-day from her ! The dear
sweet soul — let her be comforted ; her friend is faithful to
her, lives on her alone — and therefore holds out! —

Ay ! it must go, and — go it shall ; — I imagine that
Venice will help, and believe the selection was excellent
I really meant to write Wille a word or two about my
life here ; but that also you must take on your shoulders.

■* See next page, also the Diary entry of Nov. 24, p. 74. — Tr,

VENICE LETTERS 87

He has already vouchsafed me an unheard-of sacrifice, a
letter in which he simply gave me to understand the sacrifice
it cost him. Tho* that was and sounded very waggish,
I won't put him to the pains again ; * best for us to have
another chat, about Venice this time, on the sofa in his
red study with the fine antiques. Give him my very best
anticipations ! —

I am not leading an actual life as yet here; there can
be no question of that till I'm at work once more : and I still
am waiting for the piano ! So rest content with a description
of the terrain on which I have had to fix to live. Did
you not write me, you knew this part? My palace lies
about midway between the Fiazzetta and the Rialto, close
to the knee the Canal here makes, which is formed the
sharpest by the Foscari palace (barracks now) at my side.;
right opposite is the Palazzp Grassi, which Herr Sina at
present is having restored. My landlord is an Austrian,
who received me enthusiastically for my famous name, and
shews himself extraordinarily obliging to me in every way.
(He also is the cause of my arrivaFs getting into the
newspapers at once.) You have read how people regarded
my being here as a political move, to worm my cautious
track through Austria into Germany. Even friend Liszt
was of that opinion, warned me, but also exhorted
me to count on no successes of my operas in Italy, on
which I surely must have had an eye: it really was not
my terrain, and he was surprised at my refusal to see it
The answer to that I found most hard ! —

I was supposed to be on my way to Vienna, too, as
you probably know, but scarcely believed ?-—

I'm still the solitary guest (lodger) in my palace, and
occupy spaces that scared me at first However, I could

* See pages 74 and top of 86. — ^Tr.

88 WAGNER TO MATHDLDE WESENDONCK

find little cheaper, absolutely nothing more convenient ;
so I moved into my big drawing-room, which is exactly
twice as big as the Wesendoncks*, with a passable ceiling-
picture, splendid mosaic floor, and what is bound to be
glorious resonance for the Erard. I took some pains forth-
with to overcome the stiff unhomeliness of the upholstery;
the folding-doors between a huge bedroom and a little
adjoining cabinet had to be removed at once, and portieres
took their place, though of no such beautiful material as
my last in the Asyl ; cotton must serve for the nonce to
establish the stage-decoration. The colour had to be red
this time, as the rest of the furniture was that already;
only the bedroom is green. An immense hall gives space
for my morning promenade; on one side it has a balcony
over the canal, on the other it looks into the courtyard
with a little well-paved garden. So here I pass my day till
about 5 in the afternoon. Of a morning I make my own
tea : I have two cups, one of which I bought here and
Ritter gets to drink from, if I bring him back in the evening ;
out of the other, which is very large and handsome, I drink
myself. I also have a proper [? soda-]water-apparatus,
which I didn't buy here : it is white with gold stars, which
I have not counted yet, but presumably are more than
seven.*

About 5 the gondolier is called, for Tm so situated that
whoever wants to get at me must cross the water (which also
affords me a pleasant shut-offness). Through the narrow
alleys right and left, yet " sempre dritto " (as you know !) to
the restaurant in S. Mark's Square, where I find Ritter as a
rule. Thence " sempre dritto " in the gondola to the Lido
or the Giardino publico, where I usually take my little
promenade ; then back by gondola to the Fiazzetta for

* See p. 44 about the " Wagoner," alias Ursa Major. For the cup and
'* Wassertrinkgeschirr '* (which might also mean a filter), see p. 43. — ^Tr.

VENICE LETTERS 89

another saunter, my glass of ice in the Cafi6 de la Rotunde,
and then to the traghetto, which returns me through the
sombre night of the Canal to my palace, where a lighted lamp
awaits me about 8 ! —

The singular contrast of the still and melancholy grandeur
of my abode and its site with the constant mirth and glitter
of the Square and its belongings, the pleasing sense of
personal indifference towards this throng, the perpetual din
of wrangling gondoliers, and finally the quiet transit in the
twilight or as night falls — hardly ever fails to make a grateful,
and at last an agreeably calming impression upon me. And
at this I have stopped, for the present ; as yet I have felt no
craving for inspection of the art-treasures ; I reserve that for
the winter : I'm glad enough, for now, to be able to taste
this placid rise and setting of my day with equable content —
My mouth I open to no one but Ritter, who is so taciturn as
never to disturb me ; he likewise is alone, his wife having
stayed behind. We part on the traghetto every evening, and
very seldom does he set his foot in my abode. — It would
have been impossible for me to choose a spot better suited to
my present needs. Utterly alone in an insignificant, un-
interesting little place, a gregarious hankering after company
would have been bound in the end to make me seize some
opportunity of social intercourse ; and an acquaintanceship
sprung from that sort of need, and finally consolidated, is just
the thing to torture one at last On the contrary, I could
nowhere lead a more retired life than here ; for the interesting,
theatrically absorbing spectacle that here renews for me its
vivid contrast day by day prevents the faintest wish arising
to play a definite individual rdle therein, since I feel I
should then lose all the charm which the spectacle offers me
as a purely objective beholder. Thus my life in Venice
until now is a perfectly faithful image of my whole bearings
toward the world at lai^e ; at least as, in accord with my

90 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

knowledge and resignative need, they must and shall be.
How I have to regret it, every time I step beyond them ! —

When they've played pieces from Tannhauser and
Lohengrin in S. Mark's Square — where we have a military
band on Sunday evenings — it really seemed to me, for all
my anger at the dragging tempo, as if I had nothing what-
ever to do with it. For that matter, Tm already known
everywhere ; in particular, the Austrian officers often astonish
me with signs thereof in delicate attentions. It has got
about, however, that I wish to remain in most thorough
seclusion, and after a few callers have been persistently
refused admittance people are leaving me in peace. With
the police I'm on excellent terms: certainly my pass was
demanded again, after a while, so that I began to think of
measures commencing ; but it was soon sent me back with
due ceremony, and the assurance that there was absolutely
no objection to my continued stay in Venice. Thus Austria
decidedly vouchsafes me refuge, which really is something
worth acknowledgment. —

What gives my life from within out so peculiar, almost
dreamlike a character, is its utter lack of future; the
sentiment of Humboldt and his lady friend is altogether
mine. When I go on the water of an evening, survey the
mirror-bright expanse of sea, which, stretching motionless
to the horizon, there joins the sky with absolutely no
distinction to be noted, the evening red of the heavens
completely wed to its reflection in the water — I have before
me a faithful likeness of my present : what is present, past
or future, is as little to be distinguished as there the sea
and sky. Yet streaks then shew, flat isles that give the
picture drawing here and there, and far away a ship's
mast points on the horizon ; the star of evening shines, the
fixed stars twinkle, above in the sky and below in the sea : —
which is past, which future ? I see but stars and pure rose-

VENICE LETTERS 91

tinted clarity, and in between them glides my bark, all
noiseless with light plashing of the oar, — maybe that is the
present. —

Greet the dear angel many-thousand times, and tell her
not to scorn the gentle tears that drip for me ! And if you
partake of all as well, in power of your noble friendship,
indeed, indeed we're happy ! —

Farewell !

Your
R. W.

[To Frau Wesendanck kenceforwarcL']

[Mid-December iSsS*]
Our letters have crossed : yours came just after I had
posted mine! —

I have been quite alone for some time past ; Karl Ritter
left me to congratulate his sick mother on her birthday
[cf p. 72]. When he went, I was just recovering from an

* In the German edition this letter is printed as an integral part of
that numbered "61,** there filling the position indicated by the line I
have left blank on p. 107. Its contents, however — more particularly in
their similarity to the Diary entries of Nov. 24, Dec. i. and 8, 1858 — assign
it beyond all doubt to somewhere between the 12th and 15th of December
'58 ; a point of considerable interest in view of the concluding information
as to the printing of the Tristan und Isolde poem. Nor is it difficult
to guess how the confusion arose, if we bear in mind that of letter 61
"the original is missing": clearly, in copying-out at some distant epoch,
Frau Wesendonck has in this instance misarranged a sheet of Wagner's
manuscript The only point uncertain is that of the location of the brief
sentence '* Our letters have crossed '* etc : placing it here^ I am influenced
by the consideration that it is far more appropriate to a letter's beginning,
than to its middle or end. If that conjecture of mine is correct, we have
an indication of the former existence of at least one other letter of Wagner's
concurrent with his Venice Diary. Finally, I have to observe that the
" Du," which still appears in the intimate Diary, is replaced in this and
all subsequent letters by the more ceremonious ** Sie." — Tr.

92 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

illness that had interrupted my work — then scarce commenced ;
I promised him, if he returned, to have another large slice
of the Tristan ready, but I had to reconcile myself once
more to keeping my room, and this time — in consequence
of an outer lesion on my leg — a captive even to my chair, on
which I had to get myself carried to bed. That lasted more
or less till now ; only the last few days have I been out
in the gondola again. I tell you this, to link to this chapter
of misfortunes the tidings that I did not lose my patience
for a moment, although I had to give up work again, but
kept my mind free and cheerful through it all. I didn't
see a creature all the time except my doctor, Louisa — my
Donna di servente, who nursed and bandaged me very well —
and Pietro, who had much stoking to do, fetched me food,
and with aid of a gondolier, morning and night, bore me
out of and into bed again upon my chair: a manoeuvre
I called the " traghetto " and always gave orders for with
the habitual Venice " Popp^h." Louisa and Pietro were
surprised and delighted to find me in such constant good
spirits ; what particularly pleased them, was my explanation
why I was such a bad hand at talking with them, namely,
because they had the Venetian dialect, whereas I knew
nothing but pure Tuscan. —

A good-natured, well-informed and intelligent man, a
Prince Dolgorucki, called on me one day; I was pleased
when he came, still more so when he went away, I feel
so happy not to be amused and distracted. I didn't do
much reading, however — even in such predicaments I read,
tho' little — yet I sent for W. v. Humboldt's letters, which
didn't particularly please me. In fact I found it difficult
to read much of them, as I already knew their best part
through an extract : four lines of that were dearer to me
than all the diifuse, confused remainder. I wonder if you
will guess the four lines? —

VENICE LETTERS 93

I am more interested in Schiller. With him I'm un-
commonly fond of consorting now : Goethe has had a hard
job to hold his own beside this intensely sympathetic nature.
How everything here is pure ardour for knowledge ! One
fancies, this man never existed at all, but was simply always
on the watch for intellectual light and warmth. Apparently
his ailing health didn't stand at all in his way: at his
maturity, though, he also appears to have been altogether
free from overpowering moral sorrows ; in that quarter
all seems to have gone fairly well with him. And then
there was so much still for him to know — at a time when
Kant had left such weighty points unsettled — so much
that it was difficult to acquire, especially for a poet who
also tries to be quite clear in his thinking {im Begriffe).
One thing lacks to all these men, though — Music ; albeit
they felt a need thereof, a presage. This often comes
out quite distinctly, for instance in that most happy sub-
stitution of the antithesis of " plastic " and ^ musical " poetry
for that of "epic" and "lyric" With Music, however, a
puissance has been won compared wherewith the poets
of that wondrous seeking, strenuous age of evolution were
but as outline-draughtsmen in their works ; and that is just
why they belong so intimately to me, they're my incarnate
heritage. Happy were they, tho* — happier without music:
the intellectual concept {Begriff) gives no pain, but in
music BegrifT becomes Feeling ; that consumes and burns,
until it bursts into bright flame and the wonderful new
light can laugh aloud ! —

Then I did a lot of philosophy, and arrived at some
big results, supplementing and correcting my friend
Schopenhauer: I prefer to ruminate a thing like that in
my head, however, to writing it down. On the other hand,
poetic schemes are looming again very lifelike before me.
The Parzival has occupied me much : in particular a singular

94 WAGNER TO MATHDLDE WESENDONCK

creation, a strangely world-daemonic woman (the Grail's
messenger), is dawning : upon me with ever greater life
and fascination — ^if I bring this poem off some day,* I
should have to do something very original with that. Only,
I have no idea how much longer I ought to live, to carry
out all my various plans. Were I really in love with life,
I might fancy quite a long existence guaranteed me by
this multitude of projects; yet it does not necessarily
follow — Humboldt tells us that Kant still proposed to work
out quite a mass of ideas, from which, however, and very
naturally at his great age, death stopped him. —

Even against the completion of Tristan I remark quite
a fatalistic opposition, this time. Not that that can induce
me to scamp it : on the contrary, Tm composing away
as if I meant to work at nothing else my whole life long,
and in return it will be finer than anything I've ever done ;
the smallest phrase has the import to me of a whole act^
with such attention am I carrying it out. And as I happen
to be speaking of the Tristan, I must tell you of my delight
at having just received a first copy of the newly-printed
poem, in the nick of time to send it you as birthday
presentf —

* " Wenn ich diese Dichtung noch einmal zu Stande bringe, masste ich
damit etwas sehr OrigineUes liefern." Since the noch einmai is repeated
in the next sentence, '* wenn ich air meine Plftne noch einmal ausfQhren
soil," in respect of " plans " which certainly had not been " carried out "
before, it cannot here be held to signify that Wagner had actually
written a Parzival *' poem " already. On the other hand, in his preface
to the German edition of these letters, Dr. Golther informs us that
*' the three acts of Parzival were provisionally sketched in brief at the
end of April 1857," — for which, in the absence of more exact specification,
and as Wagner was then in the thick of a household removal (p. lix.), I
take the liberty of reading "April 1858" (cf. pp. 22-23). — "^r.

t "Angebinde," i.e. for Dec. 23. Presumably there was more than
this in the original letter, of which the above appears to be but a
stray fragment, as it does not come to a full close, and one would
naturally expect some sort of signature. — Tr.

VENICE LETTERS 95

69.

Venice, Jan. 19, 59.
Thanks for the lovely fable, Lady-friend [see p. 98].
Twere easy to explain how everything that comes from you
always reaches me with symbolical significance. Precisely
to the hour, the moment, came your greeting yesterday,
as if a necessity conjured by magic ; I was seated at the
piano ; the old gold pen was spinning its last web over the
second act of Tristan, its touch just lingering on the fleeting
joys of my pair of lovers' first re-meeting. When I yield
to the sedative of a last enjoyment of my own creation, as
happens with its instrumenting, I often get plunged in an
infinitude of unbidden thoughts withal, which display to
me the utterly peculiar nature of the poet, of the artist,
forever unintelligible by the world. Then I plainly recognise
herein the wonder of it, its total opposition to the usual
view of life: whereas that view turns ever on the pivot
of experience, poetic intuition, preceding all experience,
embraces altogether of its ownest potency what first lends
all experience a sense and meaning. If you were a regular
adept at philosophy, I would call to your mind that here
we meet in strongest measure the phenomenon whereby all
manner of cognition first grows possible, to wit, by this :
the whole scaffolding of Space, Time and Causality, wherein
the world presents itself to us, pre-exists in our brain as its
most distinctive function ; consequently these conditioning
attributes of every thing, namely its dimension, duration and
effectuation, are already contained in our head before our
cognition of the things themselves, which we otherwise could
not cognise at all. —

Now, that which is upraised above Space, Time and
Causality, and does not need these helps for its cognition ;
that which is loosed from these conditions of finitude, and
whereof Schiller so finely says that it alone is true (wahr)

96 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

because it never was (war) ; this which is totally incom-
prehensible by the common view of the world only the
poet cognises with that full preiigurement residing in himself,
and governing all his fashionings, that he is able to represent
it with infallible certainty, — this Something that is surer and
more definite than any other object of cognition, albeit it
bears on itself not one attribute of the world which we know
by experience. —

The supreme marvel must be, tho*, if that foreknown
essential Something should enter at last the poet's own
experience. His Idea then will take gfreat part in this
experience's shaping : the purer and higher that, the more
unworldlike and incomparable this ; it will purge his will,
his aesthetic interest will become a moral one, and to the
highest poetic idea will link itself the highest moral conscious-
ness. Then will it be his task to prove it in the moral
world ; the same foreknowledge will guide him, that, as
cognition of the aesthetic idea, had moved him to present
that idea in his artwork and qualified him for the
experience. —

The common world, still standing under the influence
of experiences forced upon it from without, and grasping
nothing that is not driven home to its sense of touch, so
to say, can never comprehend this position of the poet
toward his experiential world. It will never be able to
account for the striking positiveness of his fashionings,
otherwise than that they must at some time have come
as directly to his own experience as all that it has made
a note of in its memory.

That phenomenon I have observed the most surprisingly
in my own case. With my poetic conceptions I have been
so far ahead of my experiences, that I may consider my
moral development as almost exclusively induced and
brought about by those conceptions; Flying Dutchman,

VENICE LETTERS 97

Tannhauser, Lohengrin, Nibelungs, Wodan — all existed
earlier in my head than my experience. But the marvellous
relation in which I stand to the Tristan now, you will easily
perceive yourself: I say it openly, since it is an observa-
tion due to the initiated mind, though not to the world,
that never has an idea so definitely passed into experience.
How far the two predestined one another, is so subtle, so
wondrous a regard, that the common mode of perception
will be able to conceive it only in the sorriest distortion.
And now, when Sawitri — Farzival — are filling my mind
with previsions and striving to mould themselves next to
the poetic idea — now to be bending o'er the work of
artistic completion of my Tristan with all the calm of
plastic meditation, — now ! who will divine the wonder that
must fill me, and so waft me away from the world that to
me it seems all but wholly overcome already ? You divine
it. You know it ! Ay, and haply you alone ! —

For if another guessed it, knew it, then no one would
chafe at us more ; and every triste experience, invading his
heart from without, he must needs offer up with a noble's
sense of exaltation as a sacrifice due to, and in sympathy
with, the higher ends of the World-spirit, which moulds
from out itself experiences wherein to suffer, and through
those sufferings to lift itself still higher. But — who will
comprehend it? — would there be such nameless sorrow in
the world, if our cognition were so much alike as the
eudaemonistic will is like in all of us ? In this alone resides
men's misery : if we all cognised the Idea of the world
and of Existence alike and accordantly, that misery would
be impossible. But whence this hurly-burly of religions,
dogmas, opinions and eternally warring views ? Because all
wish the same, without cognising it So let the clearer-
sighted save himself; and above all — let him dispute no more !
Let him mutely suffer of the madness that grins around him,

98 WAGNER TO MATHELDE WESENDONCK

thrusts at him in every shape, in every reference, demanding,,
where it is blind, coveting where it misjudges. Here nothing
helps but — silence and endurance ! —

All this will strike you as another fairy-tale ; yet per-
chance, as another, it holds the key to yours*: the grey
sparrow extols its Creator, and as good as it understands
Him, so good sounds its song I —

You see, Tm so happy as to be able to work again.
And verily that is a happiness, whereas a really serious
illness is no such great misfortune, since it also liberates the
mind and sets the moral force in action. The worst of
states is that in which we are not absolutely ill, yet hampered
and unsettled ; where profound discomfort takes us in our
contact with the outer world, wishes and requirements try
to raise their voice, the instinct of activity finds no right
fulcrum, all is barred, all clogged, nothing permitted, naught
will fit Where this void and cheerlessness arise — this long-
ing, yearning, wanting — it is given to no mortal to maintain
himself continually at height of his true nature ; for his
whole existence is strictly based on one perpetual struggle
with the more subsidiary conditions of its very possibility^
and his higher nature can express itself through nothing but
the final victory in this fight ; ay, it is nothing else except
that victory, the force which compasses it, and thus at
bottom one perpetual negation — namely, a denial of the
sway of those subsidiary conditions. And this comes out
so strikingly in the purely physical groundwork of our body
itself, where all, even the chemical {vegetalen) components of
the whole are forever pressing on to dissolution, severance ;
conspicuously succeeding, too, at last in bodily death, when
the vital force is finally exhausted by the constant fight.
Thus we have to be ever, ever fighting, merely to be what

« K

The stranger bird '* [see p. 339 inf, — ^Tr.].

VENICE LETTERS 99

we are ; and the more subsidiary and lowly are the elements
of our existence from which we have to wrest submission,
the less worthy of our highest essence can we shew ourselves
when at war for the time being with them alone. Thus
I have to do battle every day, and almost all day, with
the purely corporeal base of my existence. I'm not exactly
an invalid, but quite uncommonly susceptible ; so that I
feel a smart in all those regions which in people of lesser
sensibility never enter consciousness at all Naturally I
suppose that this malaise of mine would vanish in great
part if my extremely acute sensibility were deflected and
agreeably absorbed by an element in life's surroundings
such as perhaps might be my due, but is entirely denied
me ; I lack the kindly, coaxing entourage to draw my
sensitiveness {Empfindlichkeif) towards itself and gently curb
it into sentiment (Empfindsamkeif), Lady-friend — be it
said with quite a placid smile — what a wretched life I lead !
Indeed I dare not read the account of Humboldt's life, if
Tm to reconcile myself to mine ! —

Well, that you know ! Neither do I say it to get myself
pitied ; merely — I repeat it to you just because you know
it ! — No longer can I feel any sort of wellbeing save when
I've swung myself up to my topmost height, but that height
itself is hard to scale, and the harder as it is a height ;
judge, then, how relatively brief must be my wellbeing,
how lasting the reaction. But you have judged all that
before, and know it; then why do I speak of it? It can
only be because you know it ; — I need any number of good
wishes, and tell it you since I know how your wishes are
with me! —

So I'll just go on complaining. — My abode is big and
beautiful, but horribly cold. Hitherto I've frozen — now I
know it — in Italy alone ; not in the Villa Wesendonck,
least of all in the Asyl. Never in my life have I made

ICX) WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

such friends with the stove, as in lovely Venice. The
weather is mostly bright and set fair, thank goodness ! — but
it's cold here, too, though perhaps colder where you are
and in Germany. The gondola merely serves as a hack
conveyance now, for pleasure-trips no longer ; for one
freezes badly in it, — which comes of the incessant north-wind,
which is just what gives such brilliant weather here. What
I am getting to miss the sorest, are my rambles over hill
and dale : nothing remains for me but the fashionable
promenade from the Piazzetta along the Riva to the public
gardens, half an hour's walk, with a fearful crush of people
always. Venice is a wonder : but that's all it is. —

I often long for my dear Sihl valley, for the Kilchberg
slopes where I met you also proudly driving. So soon
as it turns warmer, and I can make a little pause in my
work (my solitary help now !), I think of an outing, first
to Verona and the neighbourhood, where the Alps come
quite close. It makes a strangely triste impression on me,
when, in very clear weather, I can watch from the public
gardens the far procession of the Tyrol chain. Then I'm
often seized with a yearning of youth that draws me to the
mountain-top whereon the tale once built the shining palace
with its beautiful princess inside ; 'tis the rock on which
Siegfried found Brilnnhilde sleeping : the long, flat level,
that surrounds me here, looks like nothing so much as
resignation. —

My relations with the moral world are not inspiring,
everything is leathern, tough and dull, precisely as it must
be. How my personal lot will shape, God only knows !
A suggestion has been made me from Dresden, to go there
with a safe-conduct, surrender my person to the law, and
let action be commenced against me ; in consideration
whereof, even in the event of conviction, the King's pardon
would be a certainty. That would be all very fine for a

VENICE LETTERS lOI

man who might attain all he needed for life's happiness by
such a submitting to the most odious chicaneries etc. of
a trial ; but, good God ! what should / gain by it ? In
return for highly problematic refreshment by a possible
few performances of my works, the quite certain annoyance,
worry and over-exertion, which are now the more inevitable
as my ten-year retirement has made me susceptible in the
highest degree to any contact with this atrocious art-boggle
I still should have to use as means. With that Dresden
suggestion I therefore have not fallen in [see next letter]. To
tell the truth, Tm altogether in the air with my works,
none of my new ones could I possibly allow to be produced
without my personal assistance.

The Grand Duke of Baden seems to be the most faithful
and energetic of my princes. He sends me word that I'm
to reckon for certain on producing the Tristan at Carlsruhe
under my personal supervision ; they wish to have it the
6th of September, the Grand Duke*s birthday. I should
have nothing against it, and the persevering sympathy of
this amiable young prince inclines my heart towards him ;
so we will see if he carries it through, and whether I — am
ready. I still have a great, a serious task before me, and
altho' I hope to keep to it now without disturbance, in
no case shall I be able to finish it before June. — Then, if
no change occurs, I think of withdrawing from Venice and
visiting the mountains of my Switzerland again ; when
I may even inquire at your house one day, my friend,
whether you still remember me, and if my call is
welcome. —

Karl Ritter returned on New Year's day, and now comes
to see me at 8 every evening again. He has reported to
me that he found my wife looking somewhat better. She
seems to be doing tolerably, on the whole, and I take
care that nothing lacks to her ease. At anyrate the awful

I02 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

beating of her heart appears to have quieted down, though
she continues to suffer from sleeplessness, and, now that she
has grown a little calmer, complains of increasing oppression
in the chest with prolonged paroxysms of coughing— which
unfortunately cannot hold out good prospects to me of her
mending. The doctor, a tried friend of mine [Pusinelli],
makes the prognosis of her illness depend on a lengthy cure
in the country next summer; after such fearful derange-
ment, and particularly in view of the obstinate sleeplessness
and consequent malnutrition, we must therefore wait for
Nature's decision about this poor tormented soul which finds
itself so much a stranger in the world now. You haven't a
moment's doubt, dear friend, that my attitude toward the
unhappy one is nothing but forbearance and heartily kind
consideration ? —

Thus I have care upon care — wherever I look the
world makes life hard for me, dear child ! Can it then be
otherwise, than that I give you worry too ? Yet you worry
yourself for simply nothing but my cares, and ah! indeed
you always help me so kind-heartedly. And where you
cannot help me, I help myself with you : do you know how ?
I heave a great deep sigh until I smile : then to a good book,
or — my work. Then all vanishes in an instant, for you are
with me then, and I'm with you. —

If you'll send me a book from time to time, that you
have read, I shall accept it with profoundest thanks. True,
I read very little ; but then I read well, and you shall hear
about it every time. To yourself I likewise recommend
a book: read "Schiller's Life and Works — by Palleske"
(only one volume has appeared as yet). Such a piece of
reading, the intimate history of a great poet's life and evolu-
tion, surely is the most sympathetic thing in the world ; it
has uncommonly appealed to myself. Now and again one
must obliterate Palleske, though, and keep to the direct com-

VENICE LETTERS 103

xnunications of Schiller's male and female friends. It will
fascinate you greatly ; ay, in some parts you'll be quite —
amazed. In his youth, when connected with the theatre at
Mannheim, Schiller stood on a brink whence he was
withdrawn by a glorious apparition, which he was lucky to
"have enter his life thus early, — you must tell me much about
that ! And — if I may — FU write you oftener in return now.
Then you shall learn all you would like to know of curious
exiled me : all — I hide nothing from you, as you may judge
by to-day ! —

ril write Myrrha too, for once, of course : what eyes
she'll make! Only prepare her for my hand in advance.
And if Wesendonck wants to hear from me some day, I'll
write to him as well : already I have told him that For to-
day, give him my kindest regards ! —

Thus I part from you with the palm ! There where my
wreath of thorns rests, my roses shed unwithering scent;
the laurel tempts me not, — wherefore, if I am to decorate
myself before the world, I choose the palm !

Peace ! Peace be with us ! —

A thousand thousand greetings !

Your
R. W.

eo.

Venice, February 22, 59.*
According to the law of the most-gloriously-perfect
Buddha, the accused shall confess his offence aloud before
the congregation, and thereby alone is he absolved : you
know how I have involuntarily become a Buddhistf To the
Buddhist beggar maxim, also, I have unconsciously ever

* The original is missing.

t " Sie wissen, wie ich unwillkQrlich zum Buddhisten geworden bin."
Though the *' unwillkQrlich " might be translated " instinctively/' I take
this to be a more concrete allusion, either to some passage omitted by

I04 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

adhered. And that's a very lofty maxim : the monk comes
into the towns and streets of men, shews himself naked and
reft of possessions, and thus his appearance confers on
believers the precious opportunity of practising the noblest,
the most meritorious work of gifts and alms. Conse-
quently his acceptance is the most visible grace he can
bestow, and in that grace resides the blessing, the exalta-
tion, he sheds upon the givers. He needed not the gifts,
since of his own free will he had given up all for very sake
of reviving men's souls through his receipt of alms. —

I mean to be privy to my fate, down to its minutest
ramification ; not to divert it from its course, but merely to
face it without a vestige of illusion. For my future, however^
I have no need : the noblest need of my life — you know
that ! — I have to restrain ; how, then, could I flatter myself
with any kind of ordering of my fate ? Only for others da
I wish : if those wishes are unrealisable, I must learn to
renounce them as well. For, after all, the blessing of each one
of us must flow from his inner self : medicaments are snares.

Does that sound sad and serious? — And yet I say it
for your comfort You needed that relief, I know, because
you need reassurance about me ; so we will vie with one
another in this sweet exercise, relief for relief I —

I renounce Germany with cold and placid heart ; I also
know that I must I have determined nothing for my future,,
however — except — to complete the Tristan ! —

As a b^inning, immediately on receipt of my memorial
the Archduke Max had the measures for my expulsion
quashed [see footnote], so I'll see if I can bring the draft

Frau Wesendonck when transcribing, or to the petition for amnesty
jected about this date (see Die Musik I. 20-21), as the Archduke Max
is mentioned there in the same terms as later in this letter — ^which un>
fortunately is so disconnected as to suggest more than one involuntaiy
transposition — Tr.

VENICE LETTERS I05

of the third act also off here. Then I should instrument
it in Switzerland, presumably not far from you, at Lucerne,,
which I rather liked last summer. Next winter I shall
probably pass in Paris, — so I imagine at least, albeit
without a spark of wish, but rather with great reluctance. —

I thank Wesendonck much for his offer, but don't let
my correspondence with America etc. worry you and him
too much. It is my lot, to have to help myself in this
way, and the help's unproductiveness makes me suffer less
than the road thereto ; from which, however, none can spare
me. To be sure, posterity will some day wonder that I,.
of all men, should have been compelled to turn my works to
wares : for, only as posterity {Nachwelt) does the world
ever come to a little understanding, and then forgets with
childish self-complacence that it also is a contemporary
{Mitwelf) itself ; in which latter capacity it stays as dense
and feelingless as ever. But that's the way it wags, and
we can't alter it Eh, and that is what you tell me of people
in general, neither is there much chance of alteration in
myself: I retain my little weaknesses, am fond of nice
rooms, love carpets and pretty furniture, like to dress for
my indoor work in silk and velvet, and — have to pay for
it in correspondence ! —

No matter, if but my Tristan turns out well : and that
it will, as never anything yet!— Is Koboldchen laid, and
Lady-friend relieved ? —

Don't forget Vienna; perhaps it will give you a little
delight — I would gladly go there myself some day : for the
present you must take my place. Again and again I hear
very good news of the representation of Lohengrin there,.
and from all I gather, it is the best of any of the performances
of my operas. I'm waiting for definite notice from there,
how long the season still lasts and you will be able to hear
the Lohengrin ; as soon as I know, I will send you word I —

lo6 WAGNER TO MATHELDE WESENDONCK

And now kindest greetings and thanks to Wesendonck. —
Koboldchen has been on its best behaviour, and I gfreet
Lady-friend from the bottom of my heart ! Adieu !

R. W.

61.

Venice, March 2, 59.*

Best thanks to the fair Fairy-tale-teller, she tells so
beautifully, and yet is a long way off having such experienced
wrinkles as the Grimms ! I'm in good humour owing to the
second act's success. Of evenings of late IVe had Ritter,
and Winterberger into the bargain,t to play me the chief
portions bit by bit, and so it seems IVe done a pretty thing :
all my earlier works, poor creatures, are thrown into the
shade by this single act ! Thus I'm storming away at myself,
-and ever reducing my children to one. —

Ah, dear Heaven ! Thou knowest what I will ! 'tis pure,
clear and transparent as Thyself when Thou spread'st Thy
fairest crystal o'er me ! From my truest inner man not a
<:loudlet rises more, that could cloak from any human soul
the aspect of my clarity ! Out of themselves they blow them
across to me, those clouds ; how much longer must I scatter
them, to shew them that Tm, after all, a good pure man ?
Nor is it for my own sake, I scatter the clouds — fain would
I remain what I am ; but they hide themselves away from
me behind those clouds, and I cannot rejoice them ! —

Lady-friend, my case is hard, oh — very hard ! But in
return, my guardian angel also becks to me. It comforts me,
and gives me rest when I need it most. Therefore will I
thank it, and tell myself : " Thus was it bound to be, that —
so it might be ! " — Only he knows the palm, who has worn

* The original is missing [see footnote to next page. — Tr.]
t Alexander Winterberger, pianist and organist, a pupil of Liszt's.
(See also Wagner's letter of Feb. 22, 59, to Liszt. — ^Tr.]

VENICE LETTERS 107

the wreath of thorns : and it rests so soft, so swaying in
the hand, and bows above the head like the airiest
angel's-wing that cools and supremely revives us with its
fanning ! — *

As I still am very poorly, without exactly being ill, the
■other day I set my heart upon a land excursion. I wanted to
go to Vicenza, but a train was leaving in the other direction,
and so I arrived at Treviso. After a miserable night, as the
sun was shining I started on a good long walk of about
three German miles [14 English]. Out through the gate I made
straight for the Alps, which proudly drew their splendent
<:hain against me ; my thoughts were many. Tired out,
I returned to the city of lagunes that evening, and asked
myself my chief impression of this trip to the main land ;
I was so melancholy at finding nothing in my memory but
the dust and poor tortured horses, which I lit on again. I
looked mournfully down on my silent Canal : " Dust and
poor wretched, tortured horses — eh, those thou hast not
here ? — but they exist in the world." Then I put out my
lamp, prayed my angel for its blessing— and my light went
out too, — dust and torment blew away. —

Next day work was resumed. —

And then I had letters to write — but I have told you
that before. Tomorrow I intend to work again, but this
letter had got to be written first. With it I glide across,
away into the night, where the light goes out, where dust

* Here, following Frau Wesendonck's transcript, the German edition
prints those passages which I have transplanted as a separate letter to
pages 91-94 for reasons there stated. The whole remainder of this letter,
however, is so at variance with the "good humour" proclaimed in its
opening paragraph that it must be a compilation of various extracts, now
i undeterminable of date. — ^Tr.

Io8 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

and torment vanish. — Have thanks, child, for this convoy f
could anybody grudge it me? —

And a thousand greetings, a thousand good, kind
greetings !

R.W.

Venice, March lo, 59.

My dear Myrrha,*

That was quite a wonderfully pretty, really a copy-
book letter, you wrote me ! If anyone will not believe it^
let him look at it for himself. My child, I cannot write
so prettily ; I am far too old for that now ! So, if there is
anything you cannot understand in my answer, please
ask Mamma, who has given you such beautifully success-
ful writing lessons, to help you now in reading too. Of
course there is much you are able to read, even without
Mamma, — I do not doubt that for an instant ; but a letter
from me will be much harder, if only because I never yet
have taught a Myrrha writing. So I have got used ta
writing all my own way, you see, which perhaps you will
find a little indistinct. But Mamma must kindly help. —

Well, I thank you ever so much, my dear Myrrha, and
it was very nice of you not to have doubted that I wept
with you all for dear Guido. When you make him a present
of flowers again, give him my love as well. It pleased
me much, to hear from you that Karl is growing up so
pretty. If he has not the same face as dear Guido, that
need not stop you from taking him for exactly Guido, all
the same. Believe me, he is every tiny bit Guido over
again ; only — ^he just has another face. As he has another

* The Wesendoncks' daughter, bom August 7, 185 1, at Zurich ; married
FreiheiT von Bissing [a nephew of Frau Wille's], and died at Munich
July 20. 1888.

VENICE LETTERS 109

face, perhaps he will also look at things in the world some
day a little otherwise than Guido would have looked at
them. But that is all the diflference, and really does not
so much matter as most folk think, although it does cause
some confusion now and then — which mostly comes from
all men looking at each other with different faces, and there-
fore believing they all are something different, too, and each
of them the really only right one. However, that passes
off, and when it comes to the main affair, to crying
or laughing, why, one face is as good as another ; and
when we die some day, as may happen in the end too,
we shall all be right glad if we each have such a face
as Papa wrote me that dear Guido had. So stand
true to your looking upon Karl for Guido ; merely, he
wanted to bring his little features earlier to that beautiful
repose which most men can only make theirs after very
much crying and laughing and other wry faces. Still, each
one gets it there in time, the more so if he is very good
and kind. Now Karl wants first to laugh and cry a deal,
and has taken up that task for Guido ; that's why his face
still looks different. I wish him from my heart that he
may laugh his fill with it ; for crying comes soon enough,
-quite of itself, and to be able to do a good laugh helps over
many a stile, take my word for it ! —

Now, think all this out for yourself, my dear Myrrha ; and
as you invite me so sweetly to visit you, I really will come
•one day soon, to talk more about these things with you. —
And give Papa and Mamma my best regards. To Mamma,
who is always so good as to write what goes on in your
house, give the letter enclosed, and beg her very prettily
to be cheerful and calm ; in return for which you can promise
her to be quite diligent at reading too, so that you may
soon read my untidy characters without assistance. Then
ive two will keep a regular correspondence ! —

1 lO WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

And now goodbye, dear Myrrha. Accept my thanks
once more, and give Karl, too, best love from your

Friend and Uncle

Richard Wagner.

62a.

Venice, March lo, 59.*

To Mamma.

Yesterday I got finished with my second act at last,,
the big (musical) problem so dubious to all, and know
it solved in a manner like nothing before ; it is the acme
of my art till now. I still have a week to employ on the
manuscript, then to attend to my awful correspondence ;.
whereupon I think of honouring Verona and Milan with
a few days, and crossing my old Gotthardt viSl Como and
Lugano. Rejoice me ere that with one more account of
yourself ! —

Best thanks, too, for the punctual execution of my
** business ; " t God knows what will come of all these follies I
If only / know what I will, I am fairly phlegmatic as to-
what the world wills with me, so well wait and see ; mean-
time I turn dizzy at the thought of having to spend any
sort of pains on my existence ! For my art I feel less
and less need of the world ; so long as health permits.
I could keep working on, even tho' I never heard a scrap
thereof performed. —

Yesterday Winterberger, who is going to Rome, took
leave of me ; whereat he wept and sobbed convulsively. .
Karl, too, when he left me last November, was incredibly
moved. They really are all very fond of me, and I must
have something — I almost fancy venerable, in their eyes.
Karl I leave behind me ; he is miserable about it, quite
dreads my departure. —

* The original is missing.

t The American offer ? see pp. 105 and 128. — Tr.

VENICE LETTERS 1 1 1

With the fairy-tale I've already made it up, though
I sometimes am dense, as you have often learnt before.
You weave so deftly out of Nature, that all one needs is
to have leant over your terrace with wits alert, to perceive
whence you mould that fairy-world whose every strand
of life so beautifully conflows. — Fare you well. Kindest
regards to Wesendonck, and thanks for his practical fore-
thought ! — Fare you well ! —

Your
R. W.

63.

Milan, March 25, 59.

So I have taken leave in your name. Lady-friend,.
of my dreamy Venice. Like a new world the hum of
streets surrounds me, a world of dust and dryness, and
Venice already seems a fairy dream. —

Some day you'll hear a dream I brought to chiming
there ! A few nights ere my departure, though, in reality
I had another wondrous pretty dream ; so sweet that I must
tell it you, albeit it was much too beautiful to bear the
telling. All I can describe of it, was somewhat as follows : —
A scene I witnessed in your garden (which looked, however,,
a trifle otherwise). Two doves passed over the mountains ;
I had despatched them to announce to you my coming,
and there were two of them : why two, I cannot tell, but
pair-wise they flew, close together. When you espied them,
of a sudden you soared aloft in the air to meet them :
in your hand you were swaying a mighty bushy laurel-
wreath ; with that you caught the pair of doves, and drew
it fluttering toward you, playfully waving the wreath and
its prisoners to and fro. Then suddenly, somewhat as the
sun bursts forth after a storm, so blinding a radiance fell
upon you that it woke me up. — Now, you may say what

1 1 2 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

you like, I really dreamed that, only infinitely more
beautiful and exquisite than it can be described : my
poor brain could never have invented such a thing of set
purpose ! —

Else, I am tired, and, presumably from the onrush of
Spring, had of late been very agitated, with thumping
heart and boiling blood. When I took your violet in my
hand, to wish myself something, the poor thing trembled so
between my hot fingers that the wish came to me quick :
Quiet blood ! Quiet heart ! And now I confide in the violet,
for it has heard my wish. — I was in the Brera to-day, and
gave S. Anthony your greeting ; it is a glorious picture.
Not far from it I saw the S. Stephen of Crespi, the splendid
martyr between two churls who stone him — realism and
idealism directly side by side : of profound significance !
I cannot understand how these subjects, in such wonderful
execution, have not always been recognised by everyone
as the sublimest pinnacle of art ; whereas many, and Goethe
himself, have regarded them as oppugnant to painting. It
is certainly the supreme glory of the newer art, that, what
philosophy can only conceive in the negative — as world-
renunciation — this has been able to give us in such positive,
appealing truth, and so beautiful withal, that I hold as
poverty-stricken every image of the joy of life and every
Venus, against these sacred transports of the martyr-death
such as van Dyck, Crespi, Raphael, and so on, portray
them. I can find nothing higher, more deeply satisfying,
more beautifully ennobling. —

I have also been into, and on to the roof of, the marble
cathedral ; but really that is imposing to tediousness ! —

And now, tho* I shall get no more letters at Venice,
the weather is favouring me, the snow of the Gotthard
about to revive me, and I soon shall no longer be far from
you. I'm uncommonly glad at the thought of Lucerne,

]

VENICE LETTERS II3

and promise myself great refreshment from weekly rides
on the Rigi, Pilatus, Seelisberg etc. I mean to beat up
glorious quarters there, and some day you must come over
to see me with all the Wesen-hood of Wesen-home — friend
Swan [pfte] is already en route. —

If you give a great big party soon, in memory of our
house-concert, bear myself in mind a little too. —

Bless Antonio and Stefano, and all the saints. Hearty
greetings to Wesendonck and my little girl-correspondent.
I cannot rightly bid farewell, as Tm coming so near you
that almost nothing but " Ave ! " seems fit.

To-morrow ahead to the Alps ! Adieu, Lady-friend !

Your
R.W.

" Luzem, Poste Restante."

LUCERNE

APRIL TO AUGUST

I8S9

Lucerne, April 7, 59.
Things old and new for my dear Saint Mathilde ! —
No letter can I manage— to-day. But by and by. —
The piano has come; it crossed the Gothard safely^
and without getting in the least out of tune.

The weather is heavenly ! This solitude is very bene-
ficial to me. I have rediscovered some favourite walks.
The finches are warbling more blithely than I have heard
them for long ; they touch me much, these ever-hopeful
voices of Nature. —

Adieu I More news soon. I hope to be at the Tristan

tomorrow I

R. W.

65.

Lucerne, April 10, 59.

So the child is teaching the master!— This one thing,
that was only to be won by experience, was new to me too
through its startling veracity, and triumphantly leavened
each pang at the last : — only because there is no such thing
as severance, for us, could we go through this re-meeting!
I, too, was almost amazed at the feeling of absence of all
surprise ; it was as if we had parted but an hour since. —

That is a miraculous soil, from which some glorious
thing must flourish yet. Ay, I foretell it: — we yet may
yield much happiness! — This noble, heavenly feeling will
ever prompt my Lady-friend more actively, strengthen-
ing her, and giving her that inflexible serenity which

X17

1 1 8 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

preserves to us eternal youth. — Let her repose ! I also am
reposing, as a n^an just recovered from death ! —

The third act is begun [yesterday]. It shews me distinctly
that I shall invent no new thing any more : that one
supreme blossom-tide awoke within me such a multitude
of buds, that I now have merely to stretch back my hand^
to rear the flower with easy tilth. — It also is to me as if
this seemingly most sorrow-burdened act will not so sorely
harass me as one might think. The second act still taxed
me severely ; Life's utmost fire flamed up in it with such
unspeakable fervour, that it burned and consumed me almost
personally. The more it quenched toward the close of the
act, and the soft radiance of death's transfigurement emei^ed
from the glow, the calmer I myself became. That portion
I will play you, when you come. — Now all I hope for, is
a good ending ! —

But I can hardly wait much longer for your visit.
Imagine it ! a Kobold brought me yesterday a whole tea*
service, and with the best of will I cannot inaugurate it all
by myself. Perhaps you're not aware that I brought away
with me a very fine big cup which another Koboldchen
had sent to me at Venice, and out of which I always drink ?
So what am I to do with all these lovely new, delicate cups ?
O do come soon, to install them ; I promise you, you
shall be pleased with my quarters already. — But — seriously,,
was not the gift too rich ? I almost thought so. What say
you? — Wasn't it too much? — You'll be astonished at all
the tokens of you you'll find with me ! —

Now, write me when Wesendonck is coming back ; then
I'll present myself one afternoon again, — if I didn't weary
both of you too much the last time. —

My love to Myrrha — also to Karl, who gave me an
uncommonly prepossessing surprise. 1 called him Siegfried
at his birth, and thus became his uninvited sponsor in my

I .

LUCERNE LETTERS 119

brain. And truly that christening has brought him luck :
see what a splendid urchin he is growing ! —
Are you not glad ? —

Adieu ! All's well and beautiful ! To the noble heart
,the world is fashioned from within ; only to the common
dolt does it arise from without
Life is ours ! —

A thousand greetings !

Your

R. W.

Child ! This Tristan is becoming something terrible.

This last act ! ! !

I fear the opera will be forbidden— unless the whole
is turned into a parody by bad production — : nothing but
indifTerent performances can save me! Completely good
ones are bound to send folk crazy, — I can see nothing
else for it. To this length has it had to come with me I
Heigho ! —

I was just in full blast !

Adieu t

R. W.

67.

Child ! Child \ Tears have just been streaming from me
while composing — : Kurwenal :

" Auf eig'ner Weid' und Wonne
im Schein der alten Sonne,
darin von Tod und Wunden —
du selig sollst gesunden." —
That will be very harrowing — especially as it makes no
impression at all upon Tristan, but passes o'er him like a
hollow sound.

There's immense tragedy in it t Overwhelming I

I20 WAGNER TO MATHOLDE WESENDONCK

68.

April 15.

Child, the weather is abominable. For two days work
has been suspended ; the brain stubbornly refuses its service.
— What's to be done? — I snatched at the Tasso to-day,
and read it through right off. Indeed it is a unique poem,
and I know absolutely nothing to compare with it. How
could Goethe have ever written it ! — Who is in the right
here ? who in the wrong ? Each sets as he sees, and can-
not see otherwise ; what seems to the one a gnat, to the
other is a giant In the end, however, our heart is captured
by the one who suffers most, and a voice tells us also
that he looks the deepest. Just because he sees in each
case every case, does the smallest seem to him so huge, and
his sorrow shews us what is really in a case if one but
probes it to its deepest bottom. The mere fact of this
process being so terribly swift with the poet, since his eye
takes in everything at a glance, makes him unintelligible
to the others. —

But the mistress of Sorrow is manifestly the Princess.
For him who looks deep enough there virtually is but one
antithesis here, that between Tasso and the Princess : Tasso
and Antonio are lesser contrasts, and their conflict interests
the thinker less, since it admits of adjustment Antonio
•will never understand Tasso, and only occasionally — ^by way
of relaxation — will the latter hold the former worth the
pains of understanding. Everything at stake between these
two men is altogether inessential, simply a means of bring-
ing Sorrow into play for Tasso so soon as ever he vehemently
desires a thing. If we look beyond the piece, however,
nothing remains to us but the Princess and Tasso: how
will these two antitheses get balanced? As it here is a
question of suffering, the lady has the advantage ; will
Tasso learn of her? With his vehemence, I should rather

LUCERNE LETTERS 121

fear madness for him. That the poet has foretokened
marvellously. —

This set me also thinking, tho', that it was rash of
me to publish the Tristan thus early. Between a poem
altogether built for music and a purely poetic stage-play
the difference in plan and execution must be so fundamental,
that, if the former is viewed with the same eye as the latter,
its true import must stay almost entirely lost, — that is, until
completed by its music. Recall what I wrote in the letter
on Liszt [Prose Works iii,\^ apropos of Berlioz' Romeo and Juliet
scene, about the binding difference here. It is precisely
those many little touches whereby the poet must bring his
ideal object quite close to the common experience of life
that the musician leaves out, laying hand instead on the
infinite detail of music, thereby to present the ideally
•distant object convincingly to men's emotional experience.
But that makes an immense alteration in the form of the
poetic work itself. Without the mass of small, nay, trifling
•details from the common wont of life, from politics, society,
«h, the home and its needs, which Goethe employs in his
Tasso, he would be unable to clothe his idea in pure-poetic
guise at all. Here is the point, moreover, where everyone
is with him, where each may fasten on a notion, an experience,
and at last feels so at home that he can be imperceptibly
led to what the poet really wills. Naturally, it always ends
with each man's being left exactly where his feet will carry
him no farther ; still, each has an understanding of it
after his kind. And the same thing happens when the
music is furnished to my work : then melodic phrases enter
into play and inter-play, engross and incite; one holds
to this theme, another to that: they hear and guess, and
provided they're able, they also grasp the object, the idea,
at last But without the music, that handle still lacks ;
unless we're to suppose a reader so gifted as to feel out

122 WAGNER TO MATHELDE WESENDONCK

the convincing trend from the uncommonly simplified plot
itself.

Now you may imagine how I feel when bad weather
and a heavy head pull me up in my music ! If I knew
that Wesendonck were back and had no objection, I
would come to you tomorrow, if the weather continues-
so bad. Just fancy : I am still without my box of music
and ruled paper! The military escort have detained it ii>
Italy [see pp. 128, 136]. If I cannot work again tomorrow^
I would far rather be up and about ; even the railroad
would give me a chance then. So we'll arrange it so : if
Wesendonck isn't back yet, you will telegraph to me at
once ; if I receive no telegram in the forenoon, and the
weather remains equally bad, I will telegraph him^ begging
him at the same time to send the coup6 to the station
at 9 P.M. (if that is not asking too much). Then we'll see
how we can kill the bad weather together on Sunday. — Will
that suit you?

Kindest regards.

R. W.

If you were able to send me a telegram time enough^
I should prefer to leave here in the morning (arriving
at Zurich 2.30), I'm so afraid of my bad-weather idle-
ness !

But the telegram would have to be here by 9 A.M.

Good Friday. [April 22, 1859.]
Ere going to bed.
I have just finished reading the Egmont. Really, the
last act is very fine. Otherwise I was put out, this time,
ty the prose in the piece : after the Tasso, a thing like

LUCERNE LETTERS

123.

that strikes one as nothing but an undeveloped sketch, —
many animated features, yet no true life-filled whole. It
does not reach the level of a work of art, and in this
respect I also think the Tasso is unique. However, I have
been much moved by it again, but principally by the
last act. — Has the child nothing nice for the master to-
read ? Something soft, poetical— relaxing. How glad I
should be of an unknown masterpiece of poetry. Can I
really know them all already? Have you by any chance
a translation of Tasso — Jerusalem Delivered ? —

To-day has been another day of downpour : I never
went out at all. Still, my work has gone fairly. I require
time for it, however. Do you know this ? —

[See note to next example. — Tr.]

Very animated.

Blower,

Slaw,

Scarcely yet ? —

I'm looking indescribably forward to your [plural] visit!
Everything is arranged already, and shall go as by clock-
work. Making music will do me thorough good for once^
and I still owe you a glimpse of the Erard. Things are
turning nicely green already. If only the weather is fine —

124 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

-eh? I also promise Wesendonck to put plenty of closes
into my playing ; every 8 bars a small gratification.
My b^st blessing on your house I

Many good wishes ! — To our meeting soon !

R. W.

70.

Easter Tuesday [April 26, 1859].

Here's a reliable morning at last I We must see how
the day keeps it up ; what with your note, and the fine
-weather, it has made a very good beginning. I thank
you ! On the whole Tm somewhat fretful and inert. I
.have really been too long about this work, and feel too
keenly that my productive-force is simply feeding on the
'buds and blossoms which a brief-lived season, like a fer-
tilising thunder-storm, awoke in me. At actual creation I
'Can rightly arrive no more with it ; but the longer it lasts,
the more happily • attuned must I constantly feel, if the
inner store is to come to full wakening ; and such attune-
ments are compellable by no reflection, — like so much else,
as far as that goes, in face of the world. True, I do some
work each day, but brief and little, just as are the intervals
of light ; I often would rather do none, if the horror of a
wax " [TroiL & Cres, v. i]
are the kind of quips I find so drastic in Sh. ; and only
a man to whom the hoUowness of the world is so omnipresent
could coin them so originally.

Yet we'll drop that too, for even there our own subjective
frame of mind may be too strong a co-efficient The main
thing I wanted to tell you, is that I flatter myself I shall
be able to end the composition of my act as if by storm
now ; the whole vivid thing was revealed to me yesterday
as in a lightning-flash. I'm sure you will be pleased at
this cause of my staying at home, and wish me good luck
on my courageous disobedience to your invitation. There
is also a morsel of gourmandry in it: for I feci as if I
must be unutterably well of a sudden, once the Tristan is
finished : so, perceiving that I can arrive at a feeling of
wcllbeing no other way, I mean to ensure it by this sleight
of hand. Everything eggs me on. My abode is growing
more and more impossible. Pianos are closing in around me,
strangers on strangers, shoulder-shruggings of mine host :
already I've bid sum upon sum to guarantee myself the
needful non-disturbance, and still my anxious spirit sees
itself once more a wandering Latona ; who nowhere found
a spot to bear Apollo on, till Zeus bade the island of Delos
arise from the sea for her. (In parenthesis : fables have
this advantage, that one always comes to something in
their end ; in real life the island stays snugly tucked under
the sea, — or at Mariafeld [the WiUes* place] — in short, somewhere
away !) Yes, my child, folk make things hard for me,
and I've no easy time ; in return, there's but one being I
can so much as allow to praise my Tristan to me, and that
one — doesn't need to. Therefore no one shall even say me

LUCERNE LETTERS 15^

** Bravo I " And — you are right : it really is a worthier life,
in this exile of mine, than over there [at Leipzig ?] ; merely
you are wrong about the 7-8 years, since it already has
entered the nth. I didn't mean to brag of that, however,
but simply to cite Hartels as another cogent reason for
my work. Their pouts would have left me indifferent, but
their instant joy over the first manuscript instalment of the
3rd act has moved me so — it had come to their ears that
I meant to break off for a long while again [cC pp. 129-30] —
so ! — so that if you see me come to you, it will only be with
the red portfolio, or — in despair. Choose you ! — I hope for
the red portfolio — : but I still require a little patience ; it
won't go fast 1/ it but ^oes /

This morning bon Dieu made a personal tour of the
streets. It was Corpus Christi day; the whole town pro-
cessed before the empty houses, led by the priests, who
had gone the length of donning golden nightgowns. How-
ever, the file of Capuchin monks had a most moving effect :
in the midst of that unspeakably repulsive tinsel-comedy of
religion, all at once this earnest-melancholy file. By good
luck, I did not see them too close ; yet I had come across
a pair of plain but reverend physiognomies under the
capuchin here before ; and the crucifix always enthrals me.
Last evening, so soon as the sly-boots knew by the wind that
to-day we should have fine weather, all the children in the
churches had to pray for it ; so this wonderful cloudless
morn itself was nothing but a comedy. I drank my fill
of it, all the same, and knew well that the weather had
strictly been made for myself: I also know who made it.
Many thanks! —

Are you cross at my not coming ? Rather ought you not
to see Lucerne for once yourself at last in lovely weather ?
To come hither, is forbidden to nobody! —

Many kind greetings to Cousin Wesendonck, Auntkin

15^ WAGNER TO BttATHILDE WJSENDONCK

and Unclekin ! Keep me in all of your hearts, and 111 be

right industrious. — Adiol

Your

R. VV.

Do, please, look in at the art-shop opposite the Post:
they had a stock of those big gold pens years ago ; perhaps
there's still one left

81.

Lucerne, July i, 59.

And how goes it with Freundin ? — My mood has been a
little oppressed by the weather these last few days : still, it
keeps aloft on the whole. The work is thriving, and I've
a very odd feeling about it. Once I mentioned to you
those Hindu women who leap into the odorous sea of
flames [see p. 81, and cf. Isolde's last words]. Surprising, how odours
recall the past so vividly. On my walk the other day a
sudden gush of rose-scent burst upon me : sideways stood
a little garden, where the roses were just in full bloom. That
recalled my last enjoying of the Asyl garden : never, as then^
have I so concerned myself with roses. Every morning I
plucked one, and set it in a glass beside my work : I knew
I was taking farewell of the garden. With that feeling this
odour has wholly inwoven : summer-heat, summer-sun, scent
of roses, and — parting. Thus I then sketched the music
for my second act.

What surrounded me then with such presence, such all
but intoxicant presence, now lives anew as if in dream, —
summer, sun, rose-scent, and — parting. Yet the heartache^
the anguish is gone : all is transfigured. That is the mood
in which I hope to bring my third act to a close now.
Nothing can sorely afflict me, nothing cast me down: my
existence is so utterly un-chained by Space and Time. I
know that I shall live as long as I have work to do : so I

LUCERNE LETTERS 1 53

don't worry my head about life, but go on working. When
that comes to end, I shall know myself safe indeed; so
I really am cheerful. —

Would that you also were !

May I count on a line soon?

Lucerne, July 9, 59.

It was truly kind of you, dear Child, to send me your
news for once, and I'll see what I can find to tell you in
reply. The return of the cousin [Otto] by now will certainly
have also brought you many a piece of news, and gladly
would I profit a little myself of his reports on my birthplace
and youthful home [Leipzig]. No doubt he went to Dresden
too ? Lohengrin he would miss there : it is not to come
out, as I hear, till the second half of this month.

Meanwhile I have gone through much. First and fore-
most : — a week ago to-day I moved, i.e. they had me moved,,
and transported me to No. 7 on the 2nd floor of the
" Ur-Hotel," in the " Independence " — Ind^pendance. I feel
somewhat degraded, pretty much as Count Giulay after
Magenta ; to my agreeable big salon in the ** Dependence ""
even my thoughts dare fly no more. The unkindest cut
of all, though, was my having to renounce my Margravine
[the " marquee," see p. 127] : the republican moustcr of a landlord
forbade my further intercourse with her. So it's all up
with my beautiful morning hour at the open window : a
closed shutter bars me from the sun, and at a pinch I can
imagine myself sitting in gaol. There you see that I'm
not so spoilt and pampered yet, as some folk would like
to cry out I take it in good part, however, as my fellow-
prisoners, Tristan and Isolde, are soon to feel quite free;
and so I now renounce together with them, together with
them to get free. Mostly every other day I am at least

154 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

happy in my work : in between I usually have a less good
•day, as the good day always makes me overweening, and
then I overtax myself. — This time I don't feel that old dread
lest I should die before the last note : on the contrarj'*,
Tm so certain of finishing, that the day before yesterday
I even made a folk-song of it on my ride :
" Im Schweizerhof zu Luzern,
von Heim und Haus weit und fern-
da starben Tristan und Isolde,
so traurig er, und sie so holde :
sie starben frei, sie starben gem,
im Schweizerhof zu Luzern —
gehalten von Herrn
Oberst Seegessern " —
Sung to a folk-tune, I assure you it goes quite well :
in the evening I sang it to Vreneli * I'd make it a present
to mine host if he hadn't forbidden me the Margravine. —
But Vreneli is my guardian angel ; she leaves no crafty
stone unturned, to keep unquiet neighbours off me ; children
are not allowed in all the etage. Joseph, also, has padded
the door to the adjoining chamber with a mattress, and
hung one of my curtains over it; which gives my room
quite a stately theatrical air. As soon as I've finished my
work, though, the heaviest ground of my claims on Abode
will have vanished. In Paris I shall hide my diminished
head in a chambre garni, and calmly let Fate pass over me ;
only when I have my travails in view, do I trouble for
a superfine cradle. Moreover, I am growing more and more
conscious of my position in life, and the greatest retrench-
ment now becomes a duty. Perhaps I shall sell my lovely
indoor-clothes as well then : you can let me know, if you

♦ Verena Weitmann, who entered Wagner's service hereafter at
Munich and Tribschen. [The naive flavour of the lines would be
destroyed by a needless attempt to translate them. — ^Tr.]

LUCERNE LETTERS 155

-want to have any of them for your future cabinet of
curiosities. — Such are the reductive thoughts, you see, that
come to me in my present house of degradation ! — Never
mind : it's nearly all over with Tristan, and Isolde, I fancy,
will also have given up the ghost this month. Then I
shall throw the pair of them and myself into Hartel's arms.

Otherwise I know absolutely nothing of the world I Not
a creature bothers about me, and that's really beginning to
put me in good humour. God, how incredibly much one
can do without ! Only your company, my child, I forgo most
unwillingly: once and for all, I know nobody to whom I
unbosom myself so gladly. With men it can't even be
attempted : at bottom, their only concern — for all their
friendship — is never to come out of their shell, to stick to
their private opinion, and let themselves be touched as little
as possible. It strictly is so: the male lives on himself.
But when I think how many good things you have enticed
from me already, I can only rejoice at your having never
had the least intention to, yet drawing out the best that
-was in me. How it delighted me, that I introduced S.
Bach to you the other day ! Never had he given such
delight to myself, and never had I felt so nigh him. But
a thing like that doesn't occur to me when alone. When
I have music-ed with Liszt, it has been something quite
different; it was music-ing, and technique and Art with
a capital played a big rdle : there's always some hitch
between men. But, dull as I perhaps appeared to you the
last time at Lucerne, yet our being together has borne me
good fruit — as you now may gather from my imperturbable
mood for work. Is that no proof that I am grateful to you ?
and that as a genuine friend ? Don't be surprised, if you
don't get rid of me so soon yet! True, the fine weather
is helping too. Even if one has to stay shut indoors the
whole day, one knows that it's bright and fair outside, and

156 WAGNER TO BIATHILDE WESENDONCX

the evening pertains to enjoyment. If it is hot, still the
very breeze that sets the sky so clear, is sweet and comforting.
Upon me it has quite a directly perceptible influence : a
little agitating, but agreeable. Moreover, it's so beautiful
to have the body's needs grow less and less ; I'm living
on next to nothing but air now, and merely my heart bleeds
at having to pay my landlord just as much for "board"
' as if I had to stock an English stomach. —

For all that, my relish for the gay preponderates. Just
think : while working out the herdsman's merry welcome
of Isolde's ship the other day, there suddenly occurs to
me a still more jubilant melodic strain, almost heroically
jubilant, and yet quite popular in cut. I was on the point
of turning the whole thing inside out, when I at last
discovered that this melody does not belong to Tristan's
herdsman, but is Siegfried's to the life. I at once looked
up the closing verses of Siegfried with Briinnhilde, and saw
that my melody belongs to the words :

"Sie ist mir ewig,

ist mir immer,

Erb' und Eigen,

Ein' und AH'"— etc.
That will have an incredibly dauntless and jubilant air. —
If at a whiff I was back in my Siegfried, ought I not
still to believe in my life, then, in my — holding out? —

Your having found such pleasure in Koppen's book
[cf. p. 53] shews me how well you know how to read : l
was provoked by so much in the book because I could not
stop myself from reflecting how difficult it must make a
clear knowledge of Buddha's doctrine to others ; so I'm
glad you were not thrown off the scent Yes, child, that is
a view of the world compared wherewith all other dogmas
must surely look parochial and petty ! The philosopher
with his broadest thought, the explorer of Nature with

LUCERNE LETTERS 157

his most extensive deductions, the artist with his most
transcendent fantasies, the man witli the widest heart for
all that breathes and suffers^ — all find in this wondrous,
this quite incomparable world-myth a home the least con-
fined, and in it their whole full selves again. —

Tell me, now that you have been dwelling there, how
our lordly European New-world looks to you? Do you
not find in it either the crudest running to seed, or — the
very crudest rudiments of an evolution which blossomed
with that noble ur-folk long ago? — Railroads, — civic moralisa-
tion! 0!0!

The repellent effects of our historic Present I can mostly
ward off me in no other way than by a quickening drink
at that sacred wellspring of the Ganges : one draught there-
out, and the whole thing shrivels to the traffic of an ant-
hill. Within there, deep within there, is the world : not
there outside, where only madness reigns ! — Well done,
then, even Koppen has not harmed you ! —

And so we are soon to have peace, after all. Surely
the Cousin at Leipzig brought the armistice about ? Perhaps
this peace may prove somewhat rotten — but : " who, then,
is happy?" — one must remind oneself of that again. In
any case Hartels will have helped much towards it, so as
to be able to pay me twice the fee [Rzn^ ?'] upon prospects
improving. I really meant to charge the Cousin with some
such commission for Leipzig ; now he seems to have guessed
it Compliment him on that —

And next time we three are together, I still have a
number of tales from my youth to relate to you ; but they
won't work loose until we are together. Till then, have
all of you good cheer ; praise the Most-gloriously-perfect
£p. 103], and keep a corner in your hearts for — my

Insignificance.

158 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

[Mid-July 1859.]
Worse than in my work now, it can never have gone
at Solferino ; now that those folk are putting a stop to
the bloodshed, Tm pushing it on. I'm making a terrible
clearance ; to-day I've struck Melot and Kurwenal dead,
too. If you wish for a sight of the battle-field, you'd best
come before everyone's buried,
A thousand greetings.

Your

R. W.

84.

Lucerne, July 24, evening.

I've read the beautiful fairy-tale out to the Erard : * it
assured me by a doubly fine tone that it had understood
it well ! —

The same day you received my sketches [Trzstan] ; so
it was a case of exchange-of-matter ! I am obsessed by
my work now, and regard it as a moral victory over myself
if I can pause and abandon one page for the day. How
ever shall I feel when I've ended? I have still some 35
pages of the full score to do: in 12 days I expect to get
through with them ; how ever shall I feel then ? I fancy>
somewhat fagged at first ; even to-day my head's quite
dizzy. And ah, how I depend on the weather ! If the
air is light and free, you can do anything with me, the
same as when one's fond of me ; contrariwise, if the atmo-
sphere weighs on me, I can stoutly rebel, at utmost, but
the beautiful comes hard.

I lack elbow-room. God, how the world is closing ever

• Presumably that called " The Swan " ; see pp. 57 and 334. — Tr.

LUCERNE LETTERS 1 59

tighter on me ! How much easier might everything be
made for me.

No matter, we'll console ourselves ; and after all, I know
no one with whom I'd exchange.

— My salutations to Cleobis and Biton ; those were the
names, if I mistake not, of your two good mother's-sons
in Argos? They're old acquaintances of mine. What a
pity the Greeks were such a long way behind us ! There's
absolutely nothing Abstract in their religion : 'tis nothing
but a matchlessly luxuriant world of myths, and all of
them so plastic and pregnant that one can never forget
their shapes again : and whoso fathoms them aright, finds
the deepest world-view sunk therein. But, they just made
no dogmatic system of them ; they poesied and portrayed.
Entire artists, profound and genial ! Glorious folk ! —

Ah, how it revolts me when I look thence to our
Europe! And Paris? — It will be a clear case of taking
good care — to isolate oneself and keep alone ! —

About the finished Tristan [July 16] another day.

It would be fine if we still could combine a Filatus
ascent ; farther than that I suppose I shan't get, with
my "recreation-trips." I'll write you two best children of
man exactly when I think to put the last stroke of my
pen to the partitur. If it's possible then, do come: alone
I won't go up Pilatus. And then we'll also plan our
farewell dinner at the Villa (Franca) Wesendonck. I
expect to have finished — as said— the end of the first week
in August.

And now, good God protect you, and all your house,
and the d^pendance [Asyl] into the bargain ! Best thanks
for all kindness and love, and especially for the fir-tale [?].

Hearty greetings to the cousin, niece and nephew !

Your

R. W.

l6o WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

85.

Lucerne, [Thursday,] Aug. 4, 59.

Before work a hurried pair of words to the dear students
of the Herr Professor :

I must and will finish by Saturday, out of sheer curiosity
to know how I feel then. Only, do not be cross if you find
me somewhat slack: that really can't be altered. But I
count on your rewarding me by arriving betimes Saturday
evening ; IVe somebody here [Felix Draeseke] whom I play
nothing to, but keep consoling with that prospect. The
Pilatus shall depend on the weather then, and I fancy it will
be good, so that we can undertake the ascent Sunday after-
noon. For the rest, let things abide by my suggestion, which
you have so kindly adopted. Baumgartner won't slip
through our fingers ; he is visiting me here now, and will
be back in Zurich next week. — For my billeting I shall thank
the excellent Cousin with clarion tongue. Meantime I have
to worry around with the French envoy, who refuses to
viser my passport once more. My vexation at this shame-
fully defenceless plight towards the world, which people
leave me in so heedlessly, is only equalled by another, that
I still can vex myself at such a thing. —

In other ways, too, I have been somewhat agitated of
late, and therefore prevailed on myself — not to write to you
awhile, so as to leave you nicely undisturbed ! I may tell
you thus much, however, that 1 shall depart from Switzerland
with great, almost solemn emotion now. Yet, as Fate wiHs I
I have lived through enough, to have left life behind me ;
I will neither ordain nor prepare for aught in it s^ain :
nothing has sense any longer. —

But— three days more, and — Tristan und Isolde will be
ready. What would one more? —

A thousand thanks to the tiny weeny lady-student for

LUCERNE LETTERS l6l

her charming notions ; may it do her good hereafter, to
remember her girlhood's gardening! —

Fare you well, and give Wesendonck my very kindest
regards. If you don't mean to turn your backs upon me of
a sudden, I shall hope to see you Saturday.

Your

R. W.

86.

Lucerne, [Monday,] Aug. 8, 59.

Silly man that I am, I forgot one petition.* Tell me,
best child, would you have the great kindness to procure
me a pretty present for Vreneli right speedily? I believe
it will afford her more delight than a gift of money. Perhaps
a gown — wool and silk ? I don't limit you in price : she
shall have a good present, cost what it may. —

But you would have to see to it at once, so that I might
receive it as early as Wednesday. If it's a nuisance to you,
as I shouldn't be surprised, merely tell me so. —

And the Willes, by all means invite them for Friday :
that is, if it will please them to come. I should like to see
Semper too ; but Herwegh would shoot himself then.
Wille . . . will make me a deal of commotion among my
acquaintances ; but what does that concern you two ? — Merely
try and reserve me a room above the envoy : your influence
will certainly settle that difficulty [about the pass?— seep. 160]. It
is quite in keeping with the amiable character of the pair
of you, to offer me a sojourn in your house this time again ;
it is for me to be discreet, however, and keep from your
necks the burden and embarrassment that might arise from
a prolonged stay.

* Evidently the Weseudoncks had been over to Lucerne on the 6th,
as invited, to celebrate the completion of the Tristan und Isolde full score —
with a little champagne, one might infer from the end of this letter. — Tr.

1 62 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Since the day before yesterday, I am very displeased
with myself ; I have much to be ashamed of, and think
of chicaning myself a little for it

One memory will abide with me, however, and that
will ever shew itself as heartiest and tenderest thanks !

A thousand greetings.

R. W.

87.

Lucerne, Aug. ii, 59.

Freundin,

Only in reliance on an indulgence possible almost to no
one but yourself, did I pluck up courage to cause you the
incredible upset, announcement whereof I committed to-day
to the telegraph. Listen, please! A departure from your
house direct for Paris is not feasible to me ; much as I
dread it, 1 also have no reason to assume as yet that every
obstacle will be removed so quickly. Under various impres-
sions — why deny it ? — I'm out of humour ; the chief cause of
which, in any case, is bodily indisposition. Should I, then,
let the parting hours be spoilt for me? a parting whereto
nothing urges me for days to come ? I really was afraid of
it And so I came by the resolve to refresh myself with
mountain-air first, for the next few days ; I mean to go aloft,
and think of arriving at Rigi-Kaltbad tomorrow (Friday)
evening, when I shall see if 1 can tolerate a few days there.
You shall hear from me thence. Then if I fix on a definite
date of departure, I will let you know ; and although I can-
not venture to insist on the former project being carried out>
yet I hope to bring you a somewhat better-mannered parting
guest into the house then, than you would have had to
entertain tomorrow.

You are too good to me, and I repay it with the constant
disturbance I cause you. I almost ought to have spared

LUCERNE LETTERS 1 63

you the trouble about the Riitli [farewell gathering?] from the
outset ; but my own trouble, about leaving you with a
good impression at parting, has also to be considered : I
sacrifice yours to mine.

If you remain friends with me, please send me the
Falleske {Schiller^ cf. p. 102] too : sent as companion to me
by you, he ought to be a firstrate guide aloft.

A thousand hearty greetings.

Tell me if you forgive'me !

R. W.

88.

Lucerne, Aug. 16, 59.

So ! after the tension of work I have reached a point of
recreation, at a glance to scrutinise the world that is to help
me farther. It has a strange enough look to me, and appears
to forbid me clean everything ; so that I ask myself seriously,
what I still am to do in it ? —

Freundin, I must be brief hereon ; and you yourself
lately made it my bounden duty to be a little careful in my
utterances.* Will you take it as a sign of inner peace and
harmony, if I tell you that Tm now resolved to yield myself
quite passive to my destiny, lay my hands in my lap, and
simply wait sans bestirring myself till people fash their heads
about me ? — Enough ; Tm back in the Schweizerhof, as my
last sanctuary, and mean to sit here till — they throw me out.
My own free-will has nothing to do with it : there simply is
nothing else left for me.

I enjoy good repute here, and think of committing myself
to its agreeable shelter. — When congratulating Myrrha the

♦ See the dots after Fran9ois Wille's name iu the letter of August 8.
Presumably this allusion explains the sudden cancelling of the " farewell
dinner," on Wagner's side. No rupture, however, was caused thereby, for
we find him thanking Otto in his first letter from Paris (Sept. 17) for *' the
four bright days on your hospitable hill " ; see Letters to Otto Wesendonck,
— Tr.

1 64 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESKNDONCK

day before yesterday, I telegraphed also to Liszt, telling
him that I should wait for him here. Instead of his
answer, I received a letter yesterday from Princess Marie
[Wittgenstein], in which she announced her betrothal to
a young Prince Hohenlohe, and — in her grief at having
to quit the Altenburg so soon — begged me to accord her
Liszt's unbroken presence till October (her wedding). So
Tm now even robbed of the pleasant excuse of waiting for
my friend here. — Ed. Devrient tells me, in his last letter,
that he has something else to do than make a rendezvous
with me. —

A peep into the Kaltbad on the Rigi convinced me
that a stay there was not to be dreamt of; bad weather
made the Rigi revival complete. In endurable humour,
though semi-despair — since I found as good as no room here
at all — the day before yesterday I made up my mind to
go up Pilatus instead, at least to be able to give you exact
information about this excursion in future. It is very
beautiful, very handy, and Pilatus himself merits great
propaganda. Returned here yesterday, I found letters that
reduced me to a condition of abandoning every step towards
self-help, and retiring for an unlimited period into a little
chamber of the Schweizerhof. My piano remains nicely
packed in the shed ; but they have unpacked the divan for
me, and also the child's cushion. So Til follow your advice
for once, and wait to see what will turn up. — Will that
content you? — It ought to delight you, to hear that I'm
letting the halm lie around me so coolly ; my temper is
quite excellent amid it all.

Tell me what the diplomats are doing. Accept a
thousand thanks for your last indulgence and the Zwieback
of to-day.

Many kind wishes from Your

R. W.

LUCERNE LETTERS 1 65

Lucerne, August 24, 59.

Whatever can have put it into your head, Child, to
see, or wish to see in me a " wise man " ? Am I not the
maddest subject one can possibly conceive? Meted with
the measure of a wise man, I must appear downright
criminal ; and just because I know so much and many a
thing, and in particular, that Wisdom is so excellent and
wishable. But that, in return, gives me Humour, which
helps me over abysses the wisest doesn't even espy. And
then, you see, Tm a poet, and— what is far worse — a
musician. Now think of my music, with its tenuous,
mysteriously-fluent juices, that soak through the subtilest
pores of sensation to the very marrow of life ; there to over-
whelm all that bears itself the least like prudence or timorous
self-preservation ; to flood away all savour of the feint
of Personality, and leave but a sublime wistful sigh of
avowal of syncope : — then say, how could I ever be a wise
man, if I'm entirely at home in nothing but such raving
madness ?

But I will tell you something. To the temple at Delphi
trooped princes and peoples from the uttermost ends of the
world, to get their fortunes told them. The priests were
the Wise who doled them out those revelations ; but the
priests themselves had first to gain them from the Pythia,
when she broke into a paroxysmal ecstasy on her tripod of
inspiration and wondrously groaned forth the god's own
oracles, which the wise priests merely had to transpose into
the world's vernacular. — I fancy, whoso once has sat upon
that tripod, can become a priest no more : he has stood in
the immediate presence of the god. —

Furthermore: reflect that Dante met his seldom-and-
soft-speaking wise men, not in Paradise, but at a shady
halfway place twixt Heaven and Hell. On the cross itself

1 66 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

tho', the Redeemer cried to the poor thief : This day shalt
thou be with me in Paradise. —
. You see, you can't get over me : Tm of an arrant cunning,
and terrible reserves of mythology are stowed in my head.
If you will grant me that, Til also grant you, that you — are
right ; and still more : that it costs me no effort whatever
to grant that youVe right, for whenever I catch myself in
that which you bring so concernedly home to me, I myself
am so cross and displeased with myself, that the only thing
I wince at then, is the having others rub my self-reproaches
into me as if they doubted my already feeling them. And
yet, you dear child, 'tis my final and fairest refreshment,
when I learn that all these inner processes of mine are so
delicately sensed by another. — Won't you be content with
me? Are you? —

Only remember how rarely you so much as see me
now, and how hard it is at those infrequent epochs to
be exactly what one might be. Indeed it is difficult now,
for

So autumn has come down on us quickly ; after a raw
and ruined Spring a short-lived blast of summer, and now — .
How the days draw in already ! It all is truly like a dream.
A few days back the air was even nipping : every good
angel seemed flown. A little after-warmth has put in an
appearance, though : I enjoy it as a convalescent, yet as
one who must still take some care of himself. I'm boundlessly
idle, which perhaps may come — as I told my young friend
[F. Draeseke] the other day — from the great maturity at
which my talent has arrived.* I have received proofs for
correction [Tristan score], and stare at them aimlessly.
Possibly it is the catarrhal fever to which I last succumbed,
that has left me in this state : my nei-ves will not recover

• The little joke is not condensable in English, **/aul" meaning both
" idle " and " rotten," therefore the next stage after ripeness of a fruit. — ^Tr.

LUCERNE LETTERS 1 67

quite, as yet ; perhaps it*s the fault of the wind. Vreneli
tells me that 4 persons in the hotel are already down with
nervous fever. Well, I suppose I am safe against that. —

As for the rest, Tve arranged my little room quite
skilfully, so that you would be surprised at it, if you were
to look in. I've even made it possible to find a place for
the piano : so it's on its legs once more. —

Moreover, I already feel a shade more upright and
respectable again : they sent me yesterday my passport
vis^. — Further, it's settled that I have no direct vertigo,
but merely a sympathetic. That I found out again on
Pilatus, where I looked quite calmly down into the deepest
chasm at my feet, but was suddenly seized with a frenzy
of terror when I looked at my guide, who had gone, like
myself, to the brink of the precipice ; thus I really am not
so concerned for myself, as for one who depends on me.
On the other hand, I never can think without positive
faintness of how my negligence was once to blame for the
death of that dear little parrot, so touchingly attached to me,
which I lost at Zurich before making your acquaintance.* —

Children ! Children ! I think the dear God will have
mercy upon me one day. — Beg Wesendonck, also, not to be
cross with me,t and think kindly yourself of

Your

R. W.

* See letter of February 1851 to Uhlig, also Life iii, 145-6. — Tr.

t Apparently for refusing the offer of a loan, as the German editor
of the Letters to Otto Wesendonck mentions (without otherwise specifying)
a letter of even date to that effect ; possibly the refusal was contained in
an enclosure to this letter itself, and may explain the aposiopesis on p. 166.
On the 28th Wagner changes his mind, however, in consequence of the
failure of his negotiations with the Hflrtels for sale of the Ring, and
writes to Otto that he is prepared '* to do a little business with him " ; a
proposal wilUngly accepted by Herr Wesendonck, though with purely
friendly intent. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS

SEPTEMBER 1859 TO JANUARY 1862
{Including four from Vienna)

H ft H

171

^1.

Paris, Sept. 23, 59.*

'' Ich sauge nur die Stissigkeit,
Das Gift, das lass' ich drin."t

A careless child thus bantered me some years ago : she
lias tasted since the bane of Care. But the little bee
thrust in her sting, to boot ; 'twas the spur to the best and
noblest. She left it buried in my soul ; and was the banc
so bad? —

Lady-friend, it is the latest years of my life that really
have matured me to a man ; I feel at perfect harmony with
myself, and whenever the True is at stake my will stands
firm and fast. As for material life, I cheerfully allow myself
to be glided by my instinct : something higher is meant
with me, than the mere value of my personality. This
knowledge is so rooted in me, that with a smile I scarcely
ask myself at times an I will a thing or no ; that care is
taken by the curious genie whom I serve for this remainder
of my life, and who intends me to finish what only I can
bring about.

Deep calm, then, is within me : the surging of the surface
waves has nothing to do with my channel. I am — what I
can be ! — thanks, Freundin, to you. —

* Somewhere about a week after letter 90 Wagner had gone to the
Wesendoncks for those " four bright days" adduced in my note to p. 163,
and then set forth at once for Paris; where he has arrived by Sept. 12,
and whence he writes to Otto Sept. 17— see Letters to O, Wk, — ^Tr.

t *' I sip alone the honey, leave the bane behind." — Tr.

X73

I 74 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Now what will you say, when you hear I'm hard at
work already? —

The young man who has made a translation of the
Tannhauser [chaiiemei?] gave it me to look through. After
a fleeting glance I let it fall, and told myself: Impossible!
Therewith a heavy load was shaken off, namely the thought
of a French Tannhauser, and I breathed anew. Yet that was
only my person : the other, my daemon — my genius ? — said
to me : ** Thou seest how incapable this Frenchman is —
or any one else, for that matter — of translating thy poem ;
consequently thou'It simply prevent thy work being given
in France at all. But how when thou art dead, and thy
works at last commence to live? How, when one has not
to ask thy consent, but produces thy Tannhauser in just
such another translation as lies before thee and has been
wreaked already on the noblest German poems (Faust for
instance) with just as little understanding?" Ah, child !
such a possible immortality in prospectu is a daemon of
peculiar sort, and lands us in the selfsame cares that fasten
a mother and father to the welfare of their children far
beyond their own term of life. I alone can contribute ta
a perfectly good translation of my works : therefore a duty
lies in it I cannot forfend. So I seat myself with my young
poet every morning, go over verse by verse, word after word,,
syllable by syllable ; seek with him, often by the hour, for
the best turn of speech, the right word ; sing it to him,,
and make him thus clairvoyant to a world that hitherto was
wholly shut to him. Well, his zeal rejoices me, his rising
enthusiasm, his frank confession of his previous blindness, —
and — we shall see ! At least I know Fm providing for the
future of my child as well as I am able ! —

Otherwise I haven't gone much about as yet. My life
stays the same, at Lucerne or in Paris. The outer rind can
alter nothing in me : and just that pleases me. —

PARIS LETTERS 175

Sept 24.
My Frenchman came [le. where the letter broke off]; in defiance
of a little feverishness, I worked somewhat too ardently with
him, and — he left me very tired : to-day I awoke to the
light with a strong catarrhal fever. Your and Wesendonck's
letter has delighted me ; give him my hearty thanks ! That
folk should be seeking me now that Tve gone, is quite in
order : the world only seeks one when it suits it ; as soon
as I have gone completely, folk will probably seek me the
most Father Heim must have made quite an excellent
Posa [Dan Carlos] ; the kind-heartedness of such adherents
is always a joy, even though one can't suppress a smile at
indissoluble misunderstandings. I have seen nothing at all
of Billow's letter on Tristan,* A Countess Charnac^, daughter
of Madame A., had received word from her mother, and
invited me to tea : I have been unable to go as yet ; now
the young lady is highly commended to me from Berlin
[by Billow]. A more important point at present is that
of my abode ; for it was to " abide " somewhere again, that I
came to Paris. For the nonce Tm merely in a logis garni :
I still am seeking an unfurnished house. But, together with
the abode, 1 have yet another weighty " settlement " to think
of. Lady-friend, I have searched my heart, and determined
to carry out my resolution with the highest moral force that
1 have gained ; yet I need a few easements towards it
I am looking forward with delight to the uncommonly
clever, good and loving little dog [Fips] you once sent into
my home from your sickbed; it will go for walks with me
once more, and when I come home after tiresome business
it will run like a friend to accost me. But please now

* Hans von BQIow had privately written to Brendel a most glowing
eulogy of the Tristan music ; Brendel indiscreetly published the letter in
the Neue I^itschrift, and a Dr. Zeller maliciously pounced upon it for his
Bl&tterfUr Must'k—aW in September.-— Tr.

176 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

procure me another good house-sprite, select me a servant ;
you know what need I thus express. Your present porter's
kind face pleased me much : what has become of his
predecessor, who was such a favourite in the house ? Without
hurting your own interests too much, could you not effect
an arrangement in my favour there? I want to make my
household as congenial to me as possible: I would rather
not fix anything about the female part of it, however ;
otherwise I should already have opened the Parisian colony
to Vreneli. I insist upon my wife's picking out and bringing
with her a girl of education, partly to attend to her, partly
to keep her company. Beyond that, I have a cook to engage,
for whom Madame Herold [widow of the composer] is going to look
out Accordingly the man-servant would have as his duties
the tidying of the rooms (which the gargon always does in
Paris), cleaning of silver etc., waiting at table, running on
errands, and further, my valeting, especially at the bath ;
on journeys he would accompany me, and look after my
luggage. These attentions I greatly lack : looking after
such things myself I always bustle far too much, get uselessly
excited, catch cold, and so on. And above all : I so need
a pleasant, sympathetic human soul about me, were it only
as my servant. —

Now then : lend a kind ear to this plea. The man could
enter any moment — So it's a case of providing a Zwieback
once more, and a big one this time ! —

As for my outward lot, I am sure it will shape quite
endurably. Upon that side I'm still on the ascending plane
now ; and latterly it seems as if the ascent would even be
fairly rapid, — at least, according to a conversation yesterday
with the director of the Theatre lyrique (a really pleasant,
decent sort of man), it lies in my own hands how soon I
will make even a Paris fortune. I shan't mind, though, if
everything will only serve to keep me in good trim this

PARIS letters; 177

winter, so that I may visit my dear Switzerland next Spring ;
for there alone can Siegfried wake Briinnhilde, — in Paris
it would scarcely do, you know. — From Carlsruhe Vm
expecting a very circumstantial answer very soon, on many
points : I insist upon everything being taken very strictly
there. I may thereby place those gentry in embarrassment
enough ; but it can't be helped, — the fruit of Tristan is
no easy one to pluck.

How good it would be of you, children, if you
sent me a photograph of the Green Hill : that was indeed
a capital idea ! I still regret not having sent you my
Venetian palace.

I have much more [to tell you] concerning what we lately
spoke about ; but Til save it for another time. To Frau Wille
I really will write soon : we could not see each other this
time; but Til offer her amends.— Now let me exorcise my
fever for good and all by rest and reading (Plutarch). I
shall hear from you soon again, perhaps even through
Fridolin.* Kindest wishes to cousin and children, deepest
obligation to Karl, and faithfulest love to Lady-friend ! —

Richard Wagner.

92.

Paris, Oct. 10, 59.

In expectation of speedy good news of Karl's condition,!
ril chatter all I can, dear Child, for your distraction.

To-day Tve had a most astonishing adventure. I inquire
at a custom-office after my goods that have come from
Lucerne : the packages were on the books, but not my
name. I produce my letter of advice, and tell my name ;
then one of the officials rises : " Je connais bien Mr. Richard

• The man-servant above referred to, " der treue Knecht " [•* faithful
hind "].

t Oct 5 : " You make me anxious too, with your news of Karl'a
illness " — Letters to Otto Wesendonck. — Tr.

178 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Wagner, puisque j'ai son medallion suspendu sur mon piano
et je suis son plus ardent admirateur." "Quoi?" " Ne
soyez pas surpris de rencontrer a la douane de Paris un homme
capable de goOter les incomparables beaut^s de vos partitions,
que j'ai ^tudi^es toutes " etc.*

It was all like a dream. An enthusiast at the Douane,
just as I was expecting such great difficulties with the
receipt of my furniture! The good fellow leapt, and ran,
and helped me : he himself had to inspect. He has a wife
who plays the piano very well ; for himself, he has literary
aspirations, and meanwhile earns a living by his present
berth. He told me of a fairly wide circle which has formed
itself exclusively through spread of an acquaintance with
my works. As he doesn't understand German, I replied
that I could not conceive his taking pleasure in music
that depended so entirely on the poetry and expression of
the verse. He : Just because it tallied so precisely with the
diction, was he so easily able to argue out the poetry from
the sound, so that through the music the foreign tongue became
completely understandable. What next? I shall have to
begin to believe in miracles ! — And that at the douane ! I
begged my new friend, who much affected me (you may
imagine how happy I made him), to come and call. —

Do you know, my operas no longer really seem to me
such a paradoxical impossibility in Paris ? Biilow gave me
an introduction to an author-doctor of this place, a Dr.
Gasperini, who — with one of his friends, likewise a thorough
Frenchman— is in exactly the same case as my visitator at

* " I know Mr. Richard Wagner well, since his medallion hangs above
my piano, and I am his most ardent admirer." *' Eh ? '' " Do not be
surprised at meeting in the Paris Custom-house a man capable of
appreciating the incomparable beauties of your scores, all of which I
have studied" etc. — The young customs-ofiBcer was Edmond Roche,
subsequently joint translator of Tannhduser^ who died of consumption
very soon after that work's performance at the Paris Grand Op6ra. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 1 79

the douane. These people play Tannhauser and Lohengrin
to me, without my having a word to say to it; their not
knowing German doesn't g^ne them in the least. — And then
the director of the Theatre lyrique [Carvalho] announced
himself, to hear my Tannhauser first-hand. They all as-
sembled, and so I had to victimise myself once more, first
with a minute French explanation of the text (what that
cost me ! ), then with singing and playing. That made light
dawn on them at last, however, and the impression seemed
quite extraordinary. To me it ail is so unheard-of with
these Frenchmen !

On the contrary, I receive none but dismal, sullen news
from Germany. Friend Devrient makes it his chief concern
to maintain his " institute " in smoothest equilibrium, and
keep all unhabitual, transient things aloof from it. A totally
voiceless high soprano, for whom Isolde's music lies too low
throughout, and who consequently can't even screw her mind
up to it yet, is the only one offered me for my heroine,
since she is said to be a good performer otherwise.* And
not one spark of warmth in anything : thel only pro in all
the enterprise, that Tm to be there myself ; but even on
that no definite reply as yet to all my recent queries, as the
Grand Duke still is not get-at-able. So I feel strongly
inclined to break off* short : it really is not afgenuine article,
and I ought to be able to wait till the genuine trots to my
hand ; it's so odious to me, to have to hunt it ! —

Yes, children, had you Zurich people, out of thanks for
all the honest sweat I shed there, but gone the length of
building me a middling decent theatre, I should have had
what I want for all time, and need go courting nobody again.
Singers and orchestra, whenever required for the first pro-

* According to Dr. Altmann, this was a Frau Hewitz— fM?/ Malvina
Garrigues, wife of Ludwig Schnorr von Carolsfeld, who ultimately
' created ' the r61e of Isolde at Munich.— Tr.

l8o WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

duction of a new work, I should always be able to procure
as I wanted them ; foreign conductors and singers would
have been bidden to these performances, to take a pattern
by the rendering, — and that once called into being, I should
have felt 1 had cared for all the rest, and might thenceforth
lead a quiet life, without troubling for the further fate of my
works. How fair, how fine, how quite befitting me, would
that have been ! I should have needed then no prince, no
amnesty, no good or evil word : free stood I there, bereft of
all cares for my progeny. And nothing more than a decent,
by no means luxurious stage-building : people ought to be
thoroughly ashamed of themselves ! Don't you think so,
too?!

Dear Heaven, one's mite of freedom still is all, to make
one's life endurable ! No otherwise can I hold out at all,
and every concession would gnaw at my heart as a deadly
worm. Genuine — or nothing ! — Thus too, despite my Parisian
enthusiasts, I continue to live in great and total stillness :
Tm alone indoors almost the whole day long, and positively
every evening. This month I have yet to undergo my
moving-in : there again I've slung much on my neck, and
strictly in quest of nothing but peace for my work. My little
house will be quite pretty, though ; L. is here, and Til shew
it him tomorrow, so that he may describe it to you.* The
close air and altered mode of life do not agree with me as
yet; I expect I shall have to take to riding again. Once
more IVe a terrible number of letters to write ; my best
remain in my head, however : those to you. There I should
find plenty to say, yet nothing but the same old song you've
heard so often, and nothing of which will alter. With

* The German edition has "Liszt," but that is quite impossible;
see Wagner's letters to him of Oct. 20 and Nov. 23 (*' You couldn't come
to Paris"). Most probably the *'L." stands for Luckemeyer, Frau
Wesendonck's brother. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS l8l

Plutarch's great men I feel pretty much as Schiller (not
quite rightly, though) with Winkelried ; about these one
might rather say, Thank God I don't belong to them. Ugly,
small, violent natures, insatiable — because they have abso-
lutely nothing inside them, and therefore must be ever
gulping something from without : a fig for these Great men !
I swear by Schopenhauer's dictum : Not the world-conqueror,
but the world-overcomer, is worthy admiration. Please
God to keep these " powerful " natures, these Napoleons etc.,
off my neck ! — And what is Eddamiiller doing ? * Have you
poor Heinrich ? Are you cross with me ? Or do you still
retain a scrap of fondness for me ? Do tell me that ! And
greet me the cousin, — and fare you well ! A thousand

greetings from

Your

R. W.

From the 15th inst. I shall be living at 16 Rue Newton,

Champs Elysdes.

93.

Paris, Oct. 21, 59.

I found your letter, Lady-friend, at my new dwelling,
when I moved in yesterday to sleep my first night there;
the beautiful aesthetic calm in your communications has
done me a power of good, although it wellnigh shamed me.

Now let me be silent awhile : 'tis the only consecration
open to me now; I know how much my silence may be
worth. Confide in it ! —

I am not to have you at the Tristan ! How shall that
be possible ? — Let me hear that you're tranquil and well on
the fortunate isle [Sicily]. —

* A characteristic nickname for Prof. E. M. L. EttmUller, translator of
the Eddas ; see Zt/e iii, 271-2 and 323. The "poor Heinrich" must
be Hartmann von Aue's Der arme Heinrich (circa 1200). — Tr.

1 82 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

When I write to you next, it shall be better. For the
rest, I'm alone, see no one, and have to do — alas ! ! — with
none but workmen. I am — housing myself once more ! —
Hearty greetings to Wesendonck. Thanks and fidelity !

Your
R. W.

Paris, Oct 23, 59.

My precious Child !

The master has seen Death once again since that All-
Souls 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 Tannhauser ;

PARIS LETTERS 1 83

the strain was great, a moral bitterness preponderating
[vid inj\\\ next day a small error of diet (i 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
life.—

Two hours did I taste this happiness. Then life re-
turned : 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! 1 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 ril 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 ! —

1 84 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

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.

95.

Paris, Oct 29, 59.

Of one attribute that I have acquired in my art I am
now becoming more and more distinctly conscious, since it
influences me in life as well. It is inborn in my nature to
swing from one extreme of temper to another : the uttermost
rebounds, moreover, can hardly help but touch ; in fact,
life's safeguard often lies therein. At bottom, too, true art
has no other subject than the display of these extremes of
mood in their ultimate relations to each other: that which
alone is worth aiming at here, the weighty crisis {die wichttge
Entscheidung), can really be won from nothing but these
uttermost antitheses. For art, however, from a material use
of these extremes there may easily arise a vicious mannerism,
which may degenerate into snatching at outward effect. In
this snare have I seen caught, in particular, the modem

French school, with Victor Hugo at its head *

Now, I recognise that the peculiar tissue of my music
(naturally in exactest agreement with the poetic structure) —
what my friends now consider so new and significant t^-owes
its texture in especial to that intensely touchy feeling which
prompts me to mediate and knit together all the nodes of
transition between extremes of mood. My subtlest and
deepest art I now might call the art of Transmutation, for
my whole artistic woof consists of such transitions : I have

* Judging by the next sentence, I take the omission to be that of a
reference to a certain someone else's music. — Tr.

t By this time he must have read that letter of BQlow's mentioned
p. 175.— Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 185

taken a dislike to the abrupt and harsh ; often it is unavoid-
able and needful, but even then it should not enter without
the Stimmung being so definitely prepared for a sudden
change, as of itself to summon it. My greatest masterpiece
in this art of subtlest and most gradual transition is assuredly
the big scent in the second act of Tristan und Isolde. The
commencement of this scene offers the most overbrimming
life in its most passionate emotions, — its close the devoutest,
most consecrate desire of death. Those are the piers : now
see, child, how IVe spanned them, how it all leads over from
the one abutment to the other! And that's the whole
secret of my musical form, as to which I make bold to assert
that it has never been so much as dreamt before in such clear
and extended coherence and such encompassing of every
detail. If you knew how that leading sense inspired me
here with musical contrivances — for rhythm, harmonic and
melodic development — such as I never could light on before,
you would grow aware how, even in the most specific branch
of art, there can be no true invention if it does not spring
from such main principles. — So much for Art ! But with me
this art is very close-allied to Life. I suppose a strong con-
flict of extremes of mood will always remain part of my
character : it is painful to me, however, to have to measure
their effects on others : to be understood is so indispensably
important. Well, as Art has to bring to understanding those
extreme grand emotions of Life which remain unknown to
the generality of mankind (except in rare epochs of war or
revolution), so this understanding is only to be compassed
through the most definite and cogent motivation of transi-
tions ; and my whole artistic work consists in nothing but
evoking the needful, willing mood of receptivity through
such a motivation.* Nothing has been more horrifying to

* ** Wie nun in der Kunst die ^ussersten, grossen Lebensstimmungen
zum Verst&ndniss gebracht werden sollen, die eigentlich dem allgemeinen

1 86 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

me, in this regard, than when skips are made in the perform-
ance of my operas ; for instance in the Tannhauser, where I
first went to work with a growing sense of this beautiful,
convincing need of Transmutation, and carried out a most
pregnantly-motived transition (even musically considered)
from the outburst of horror after Tannhauser's appalling
confession, to the reverence wherewith the intercession of
Elisabeth is heard at last ; a transition I always was proud
of, and that never failed of its convincing effect. You may
easily imagine how I felt, when I learnt that folk saw
* lengths ' in this (as at Berlin) and positively struck out one
of the most essential portions of my artwork ! —

Thus does it fare in my art. And how in life ? Have
you not often been witness how people found my language
domineering, wearisome, interminable, when, led by an
identical instinct, I meant nothing else than to lead over
from excitement, or after an unusual expression, to a rational
conciliation ? —

Do you remember the last evening with Semper? I
had suddenly forsaken my calmness, and wounded my op-
ponent by a vigorous thrust : hardly had the words escaped
me, than I inwardly cooled down at once, and felt nothing
but the necessity — precisely to myself — of making amends,
and restoring the conversation to a seemly groove. At like
time, however, I had a definite feeling that this could never

Menschenleben (ausser in seltenen Kriegs- und Revolutionsepochen)
unbekannt bleiben, so ist diess Verst^ndniss eben nur durch die
bestimmteste \md zwingendste Motivirung der Ueberg&nge zu erreichen»
und mein ganzes Kunstwerk besteht eben darin, durch diese Motivirung
die nOthige, willige GefQhlsstimmung hervorzubringen." — Even by a slight
paraphrase it is impossible to do justice to this pregnant sentence, as,
among other things, we have no single English equivalent for SHmmung —
the meaning of which may range from *• key/' or " pitch," to " frame of
mind." — Tr,

PARIS LETTERS 1 87

be done by sudden muting, but only through a gradual
and conscious leading-over. I remember that even while
still loudly championing my own opinion, I was already
handling it with a certain artistic deliberateness, which, if
people would only have let me go on, quite surely would
have led to a conclusion alike intellectually and morally
conciliating, and ended with agreement and appeasement
in one. I grant you that this is demanding too much ; for
when actual temper 'once is roused, then each man wants
to gain his point, and would far rather pass for insulted,
than be brought to agreement So upon this, as on many
another occasion, I simply incurred the charge and rebuke of
loving to hear myself speak. You yourself, I believe, were
misled for a moment that evening, and feared that my
continuing at first in a loud tone of voice proceeded from
sustained excitement; and yet I also remember having
answered you quite tranquilly, "Only let me lead back
again ; it really can't be done so quick ! " —

You will believe me, that such experiences have some-
thing very painful to me? — Indeed I am companionable, and
it is no surly egoism that drives me more and more away
from all society. It isn't wounded vanity, if I'm sensitive
to charges of perpetual talking, but the doleful feeling — What
canst thou ever be to people, what can they be to thee,
if in your mutual intercourse it is no question of attaining
understanding, but just simply of retaining one's unaltered
opinion ? On subjects foreign to me, concerning which I
have neither experience nor a settled feeling, I certainly
never dilate any otherwise than with a view to gaining in-
formation : but when I feel that I have something rational
and coherent to say about a subject with which I am quite
familiar, then to have to let the thread of my argument be
snapped for mere sake of giving another the semblance of
right to an opposite opinion — that really makes it futile to

1 88 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

,. speak a single word in company at all. I now decline all

;'/ so-called company, and — really feel better for it

'I But there I go, talking too much again perhaps, and

/ bringing too much into conjunction that might as well be

f left apart? Will you understand me, if my feeling toward

; yourself impels me this time also to " transition " — to leading-

' over ; if I try to adjust the rough ends of my moods, and

do not like to cease abruptly, just to blurt out that I'm
calm and cheerful? Could that possibly seem natural to
you ? No : to-day as well, pursue the path I fain would
lead your sympathy along, to arrive at a reassured feeling
about me ! Nothing can be more painful to my heart, than
to rouse a grievous sympathy ; if such a cause has slipped
my lips, accord me the fair liberty of tranquillising gradually
and gently. Everything, with me, is so linked together:
that has its disadvantages, as it enables common and (under
circumstances) remediable grievances to exert a frequently
excessive influence on me ; yet it also has this advantage,
that I derive from that same inter-connection the means
of reassurance ; for, just as everything streams towards my
ultimate life-task, my art, so from it flows back the fount
that dews my arid paths of life. Through the heartfelt
wish to soothe and reassure your sense of sympathy, to-day
Tve been able to make myself conscious of that highest
artistic attribute which I find more fruitfully developed in
each of my new works, and thus to speak to you as if
from the very sanctuary of my art without the least
constraint, the smallest self-deception, veraciously and sans
pretence. —

Thus, too, my whole situation is gradually clearing toward
a definite outlet, an outlet which faces a side of the world
whence friendship and noble will may operate composingly
upon me. — Everything will be arrangeable, and once Tm
quite at rest again, once full recourse to my art, my creating,

PARIS LETTERS 189

is again made possible to me, all will soon lose its disturbing
influence on my mind : then shall I look tranquilly outwards,,
and when I'm troubling least in that direction, perhaps
therein soonest come from there as well a thing I have
to welcome.* — So — patience ! —

From my [box of] books I've picked out our dear Schiller.
Yesterday I read the Jungfrau [Maid of Orleans], and felt
so musically attuned that I could capitally have filled with
tones Johanna's silence, in particular, when she is publicly
accused: her offence, — the miraculous. To-day a speech
of Posa's about innocence and virtue (at close of the second
act [Don Car/os]) absolutely set me in amazement at the
incredible beauty of its poetic diction. How I regret my
inability to comply with an invitation that reached me lately
from the committee of the Schiller-festival at Berlin (to write
a chant for it). Bemoan me, but also rejoice when I tell
you that I've brought off this letter to-day amid countless
interruptions by workmen, under the hammering and rapping
of upholsterers, the instrument-maker, the wood-chopper^
and so on. Ere long I might have had leisure, perhaps^
to bring a Schiller chant about : but the term is too short,
and the Muse has no niche in my houselet as yet. —

* Without a key, this whole paragraph is enigmatic, and more
especially its commencement: — "So klart sich mir denn auch meine
ganze Lage allm&hlich nach einem bestimmten Ausgange hin ab, der
ja einer Seite der Welt zugekehrt ist, von wo Freundschaft und edler
Wille beruhigend auf mich wirken kOnnen. £s wird sich Alles einrichten
lassen ** etc. Perhaps such a key may be found in the letter of Oct. 25
to Otto : ** The Dresden Intendant sends me word that he hopes to
persuade the King of Saxony to summon me to Dresden for a first
representation of the 'Tristan,' but that could not take place before July
next year. At least I should have singers with good voices there."
Moreover, Glasenapp informs us that on Nov. 4 Wagner wrote his old
friend the Dresden tenor Tichatschek, who had conveyed the intimation,
begging him to try to get the production arranged for an earlier date ;
whilst Minna, on her side, had lately been doing her utmost in Dresden
to procure her husband's amnesty (Das Leben R, Wagners II. ii, 227-8).

IQO WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Farewell ; be kind to me, and trust me ! All will have

to be endured a while longer, A thousand greetings and

hearty wishes !

R. W.

96.

Paris, Nov. ii, 59.
My precious Child,

You give me great delight ! Yesterday I meant at last —
I had been so obstructed ! — to write yourself with the letter
to Wesendonck,* to tell you how much your last letter
rejoiced me : interrupted once again, this morning came
round and brought me, too, the Schiller dithyramb. Never
had I understood that so well, as to-day : you are always
teaching me to see new beauties. How gladly I judge from
it all, that you have recovered your health ! —

I also am slowly recovering, and that — I can tell it you
now — from a serious illness. Ten years ago — in Paris too —
I suffered from acute rheumatics ; the doctor particularly
cautioned me to do all I could to drive them outward, lest
the attacks should find their way to my heart. And so,
in fact, just now each ailment of my body coalesced, and
threatened one last exit through my heart. This time I
really believed I Wcis done for. However, it has all got
to be thrust to the outside once more ; by some kind of
fitly distracting activity I shall try to foil the swarming
toward my heart. You will stand by me, both of you ;
won't you, good souls? —

My first good tidings reached me from myself. The
proofs of the third act of Tristan turned suddenly up. How
a glance into this last completed work revived, filled
strengthened, and inspired me — you will be able to feel

♦ A letter not preserved, at least not included with the Letters to Otto, —
Somewhere about this date (the day before ?) Minna must have returned
to her husband. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 191

with me. This joy, I should say, a father can scarcely
experience at sight of his child ! Through a river of
tears — why mask the weakness ? — it cried to me : No !
Thou shalt not end yet ; thou still must achieve ! A man
who has only just made such a thing, is full to overflowing
still !~

So be it then ! —

To return : Your letter, also, rejoiced me so much ; and
nothing in it more so, than when I see the child, now grown
so mightily sagacious, yet straying every now and then into
a small mistake about me. Then I say to myself: She
will have the additional pleasure of getting quite clear upon
this point as well ; for instance, that, when I dispute about
Politics, I have my eye on something other than the seeming
theme, etc. But how glad I am, to be in the wrong when
I argue with you : I always learn some new thing by it —

For the next, a very melancholy work of love has fallen
to me. I suddenly learn that my dear fatherly friend Fischer
of Dresden is sick unto death (you will remember how
often IVe spoken to you of his singular attachment and
fidelity) ; a complaint of the — heart at last had brought the
greybeard to death's door. As my wife goes in to visit him,
under the most terrible seizures he presses out the piteous
moan : " O Richard ! Richard has forgotten me, and cast
me off ! " I had expected him this summer at Lucerne, and
not written him since ; so I wrote to him at once. Then
I receive the tidings of his death ; he had been too weak
to have my letter read him.

So a few days since I penned a Homage to the dear
departed : * as soon as I get back a print of it, I will send
it on to you. — That also was a piece of work ! —

• First published in the Dresden Constituiionelle Zeitung Nov. 25,
^hen reprinted in the Neue Zntschrift of Dec. 2, 1859, and finally in
vol. V of Wagner's Ges, Sckriften—se^ Prose Works III. — Tr.

192 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

And I still am not rid of the workmen : these Parisians
seem to think one's house their own. Only now, is my little
^tage in order at last : * were you to walk in, you would almost
think I hadn't left the Asyl ; the same furniture, the old
desk, the same green hangings, engravings, everything — ^just
as you knew it. Merely the rooms are still smaller, and
I have had to divide : my little salon holds the Erard, the
green sofa and two fauteuils that used to stand in the tea-
room ; on the walls the Kaulbach, Cornelius and the two
Murillos [former presents from Otto], Next to it a little Cabinet with
bookcase, work-table, and the well-known causeuse (of
Lucerne memory). I have had my bedroom papered in
plain pale violet, with a few green bands to frame it in ;
the Madonna della Sedia forms its decoration : quite a tiny
cabinet adjoining it is fitted as a bathroom. So this will
have been my final planting of a household foot You know
I can abide by what I very seriously determine : so — :
never, never will I " set up house " again ! God only knows
what will put an end to this last settlement : but / know that
an end will come to myself, before I die ; and I know that
I shall trim myself no nest again then, but await entirely
devoid of goods that spot where somebody shall seal my eyes
at last. —

Once more I was seized, after all, by a ridiculous eager-
ness to get my things arranged as speedily as possible, that
I might find rest again. At such times I overdo it, not
out of pleasure in the thing itself, but simply to arrive more
quickly at a state where this and that requirement, satisfied
to the last inch perhaps, shall no longer act disturbingly
upon me. It must be so : for I cannot otherwise explain
this ridiculous zeal wherewith I set about a thing like that,.

* In Paris the Asyl arrangement was reversed ; Wagner occupied
the ground-, his wife the first floor. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 193

since I know on the other hand how little I cleave to it
all, and how recklessly I can throw it all behind me. Yes,
laugh at me, do ; TU stand it again. —

A few days back I was invited to a musical soiree, where
sonatas, trios etc from Beethoven's last period were
played. Alike reading and rendering put me very much
out, and they won't get hold of me so soon again, yet I had
a few experiences. I took a seat next Berlioz, who
presently introduced the composer Gounod to me — an
amiable-looking, upright-endeavouring, but it seems not
very highly-gifted artist — ^who was sitting on his other side.
Hardly had it become known who I was, than people
thronged round Berlioz from all sides, to be introduced
by him to me; remarkable to say, a bevy of enthusiasts
who have studied my scores without knowing German : at
times that makes me quite bewildered. I'm dreading a
number of callers, in consequence, and must be a little on
my guard ; the young Chamacd lady I have disgracefully
neglected hitherto ; I don't quite see my way yet — as
regards Paris. However, on the whole I've a mind to under-
take something, purely to conduct — my "rheumatics"
outward.

I am reading Liszt's Music of the Gipsies.* Rather too
turgid and phrasy : still, the forcible portrayal of the Gipsy
nature (unmistakably the Tschandalas of India) took me
vividly back to Prakriti (alias Sawitri). About that another
time.

And now, for to-day — a thousand thanks ! Ah, what does
that not include ! I'll soon gossip again with the child. —

R. W.

* First French edition (orig.) Les BohemienSt published in Paris 1859.
Evidently on this, as on similar occasions before, Wagner was unaware
that the MK>rk was largely the product of Princess Caroljme Sayn-
Wittgenstein. — Tr.

194 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

97.

Paris, Nov. 29, 59.*

What great joy you again have given me, Lady-friend T
Believe me, if I had to recognise myself in none but the
mirror held up to me by the world and all my friends there-
in, I soon should have to turn away with dread of any
looking back. Nor can I be quite open and true with any
one of them : there always remain spots and blind places,,
which I know not how to fill up. But if You answer me
for once, how splendid I then appear ! Everything, including
myself, then seems to me noble : I know that Tm safe.
Children, that we are threCy is really something wonderfully
grand ! It is incomparable, my and your greatest triumph f
We stand inconceivably high above mankind, inconceivably
high ! The noblest had to come true for once : and the
true is so incomprehensible because so wholly for itself.
Let us revel in this high good-fortune : it has no uses>
and is here for naught — it can but be enjoyed, and but
by those who are it. —

Now be you finely welcomed to French soil if herewith
the poet of the Nibelungen steps forth to meet you, and
stretches out his hand. I felicitate you joyfully on your roving
to Italy ; you go to meet a benefit that I am not to taste,
and which I therefore wish you doubly. Enjoy the balmy
heaven, the poetic land, the living past, for me as well,
and be you thereby twice made glad ! How inexpressibly
gladly would I be with you both ! —

Nothing remains for me now, but to make one final
energetic effort to rid myself of an eternal cumbrance of my

* The first two paragraphs, which by then had appeared in the
Allgemeine Musikzeitung 1898, I have already published with the
Letters to Otto.— It,

t Evidently taking the Marseilles route to Rome ; see letter of Dec.
12 to Otto.— Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 195

life for good and all. Ruined and devastated as my relations
to life are, yet I have come to see that much therein may
shape itself endurably and acceptably if only I can get
myself the needful outer means to dispose at all times of
my mode of life, my projects, doings and leavings-undone,,
according to my need and judgment, without being forever
arrested by that single point which nowadays h?LS power
over freedom, and whose settlement removes all scruples
as to what we do or leave undone. I now have learnt
more forcibly than ever — tho' strictly it was always so —
that I can bear each failure, every undeception, each closing
of all prospect, all, all, with great, contemptuous indifference ;
but those said troubles make me furiously impatient. Dis-
dain everything, let nothing turn me from the inner fount,
renounce all recognition, all success, even the possibility of
producing my own works myself — all this I can ; but with
gnashing of teeth to have to bruise my feet against the
clog that Fate has cast between my legs upon their quiet
journey — against that — I can't help it — I am and remain
most excessively sensitive ; and as Tm what 1 am, and
nothing can alter me in that respect — so long as I'm able
to hold out at all — I now am staking everything, in uttermost
impatience, on clearing my path of this clog once for all *
Luckily I can pretend to myself that it completely suits
my present inner situation, to direct my attention exclusively
outward awhile. I expect you won't allow yourself to be
altogether duped thereby ; and if you were to suppose I might
unhesitatingly prefer to cultivate my inner concentration
in some agreeable retirement, amid congenial surroundings,.

* Unquestionably the " clog " can bear no other meaning than his:
long-standing financial embarrassment ; ail kinds of schemes for capitaU
ising the labours of his brain are now his uppermost consideration, as
may be seen in the letter of Dec. 12 to Otto, and the next two or
three to Mathilde Wesendonck. — Tr.

196 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

as for instance with you two, and — finally indifferent toward
their outer fortunes— devote myself to the continual creation
of new works : if you were to suppose this, let me tell you,
you would be perfectly right (tho* it must not go beyond
ourselves, of course). But I believe, as said, it will now
become possible to delude myself into the other course ;
and that's assisted very much, nay, wellnigh determined,
by my latest relations with my whole world of so-called
friends in Germany. It really is incredible, how things
stand there ; so incredible that I gladly withhold it from
you, since you hardly could believe it in the end. Thus
I'm convinced, e.g., that you would tax me with exaggeration
and misconception if I tried to make it plain to you how
truly hostilely, or at least entirely unconscientiously, this
Ed. Devrient has behaved to me ; so Til merely tell you
that I long had been prepared for it, and wasn't at all
surprised when at last I found it out. I gladly excuse him,
however : everybody has his hobby-horse, and his is a
normal well-regulated theatrical institute, without digressions
into a domain not to be trodden in the daily round. In this
sense he was instinctively against my work from the first,
and only the young Grand Duchess's enthusiastic wish
propelled him on — head-shaking and half sulky all the way.
Well, he has triumphed now ; he openly avers that I've
reached the point of the impossible. — Whether the young
enthusiastic woman's-heart will not retire into itself, cowed
by the experienced, calculating man — the " wise man," if you
will^what do you say ? I'm certain the young Grand Duke
will-
But look you, child, it is this and its like that stirs my
old pugnacity again, a little : I'm foolish, but — the very
fact that I live is a folly ; you cannot but admit it The
Impossible itself might tempt me; and my committing
myself here to Paris, e.g., long seemed to me the last im-

PARIS LETTERS 197

possibility of all Yet I have a quite peculiar gauge for the
Impossible, and that points inwards : whether I carry it
through, I shall learn from nothing save my mood, my in-
clination to pursue ; and I therefore shall deem that impossible
for which I lose all zest at last That may easily occur;
disgust has a terrible sway with me, and once it plainly shews
itself, it is invincible ; wherefore I shall not strive against
it, and to it belongs the judgment of what may be possible
to me. Often do I detect it, and it casts me down for
wretched days : then it gets stilled again by this or. that
surprising advance, sympathy, budding intelligence, where
I never had hoped for them. Then Maya weaves its veil
opaque once more, a lightning instant of full rayed-out truth
confronts me ; hindrances incite, risks enflame — and — we
shall see which keeps the field, disgust, or — lust of battle ? —
I cannot yet decide. But were I one of those fortunates
to whom Fate gave gold and silver also when it gave them
pride and talent, my fondest wish would bear me now to
you in Rome for 2 fair months ; I know it. Now go
you children well alone: Til see how I can bend my fate,
then some day I'll come too. Good luck accompany you !
A thousand heartfelt wishes ! —

R. W.

Paris, Dec. 19, $9.
Best Birthday-child,
Do I arrive in good time? Is to-day the very 23rd?
Maybe the day is right, perhaps, but how about the present ?
What could I give the child ? I am so poor now, nly well
of gifts has run quite dry ; it is as if I hadn't kno\yn for
ages what it feels like, to come by good ideas, put them on
paper, impart them ! — The only thing that would consent
to occur to me, was just a kind of last conclusion of my

* As a matter of fact, Hans von BQlow was the first to give the
Tristan prelude, and that '* with the composer's kind permission " (see
programme of Hans' Prague concert, March 12, 1859). According to the
Neue Zeitschriffs report on the second performance (Leipzig, June '59 —
see p. 147 «. sup,) Hans had provisionally supplied a needful close him-
self: it would seem that this has misled certain programme-compilers
into attributing to him the Close always played at concerts when the
so-called ^'Uebestod" is not tacked on; just as foolish and impossible
legends were current once, that von BQlow had helped in the general
instrumenting. Wagner's own Close is of course the only one published
(see full score of the separated Prelude, Breitkopf & H&rtel), and it
is that reproduced on the lilac facsimile of the enclosure to this letter 98
together with the explanatory programme, a translation whereof the
reader will find in Prose Works VI II. pp. 386-7. — Tr.

198 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

own last (?) work ; and truly that has been no bad idea.
Listen how it came about : —

You know Hans wanted to conduct the prelude last
winter, and begged me to make it a close.* At that time no
inspiration could have come to me : it seemed so impossible,
that I flatly declined. Since then, however, I have written
the third act and found the full close for the whole : so, while
drawing up the programme for a Paris concert — the particular
temptation to which was my wish to get a hearing of this
Tristan-prelude — it occurred to me to outline that close in
advance, as glimmering presage of redemption. Well, it has I

succeeded quite admirably, and to-day I send you this 1

mysteriously tranquillising close as the best gift I can make \

for your birthday. I have written the piece out for you
pretty much as I play it on the piano to myself : there are r

a few nasty stretches in it, and I expect you'll have to fish
up some Roman Baumgartner to play the thing to you,
unless you would rather play it with him a quatre mains ; I

in which case you must adapt the right hand part for both i

your hands. Now see what you can make of the onerous j

present ! — Better will you understand what I have penned as j

explanation of the whole prelude for my Paris audience : \

it stands on the other side of the specimen of caligraphy. S

^i«

y\JUo<

<^V *,J.oi-t.*t<, Z*-^***". /'^n, ^
9^ ^Vt \AXuy^*>^ e

^AS^-^'^

mjii>

t^'i.

'.ii

PARIS LETTERS 199

Ivy and vine you will recognise in the music, though,
especially when you hear it on the orchestra, where strings
and wind alternate with each other ; it will come out quite
beautifully, I expect to hear it in the middle of January,
when ru hear it for both of us.

And now, many hearty good wishes and greetings from
my cold Paris, where we're almost perished with snow, ice
and frost ! How is it in your part of the world ? Does Rome
come up to expectations ? Let me hear very soon ; I do
need a word from you ! —

Fare you well, be blest and deeply reverenced ! —

Your
R. W.

99.

January i, i860.

Lady-friend, Tm still alive ! The most notable news I
can give you for the New Year.

God knows how I came to flatter myself I should receive
a greeting from you to-day ; for our letters are very slow
now, and not to be reckoned on. From the date of your
letter I have made out to my sorrow that mine to you
can not have arrived on Dec. 23 ; consequently I can't
expect a greeting in return myself to-day.

But I am glad to know that you, and all of you, have
reached Rome happily and safely. Your letter shews me
that I can very well leave you to fend for yourself now ;
you have opened your eyes, and — ^see. Perhaps you had
made an oversight of that before. Now see and behold for
me as well : I need someone to do it for me, and no one
would I rather let see for me, than you. With me there's
something queer about it ; I have repeatedly found it so,
and most definitely at last in Italy : I'm uncommonly acutely
affected awhile by any considerable effect on my eye, but
— it does not last long. It certainly does not come from my

200 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

eye being insatiable ; but it seems that as sense for observing
the world it doesn't suffice me.* Perhaps it is going with
me as it went with the eye-loving Goethe when he exclaimed
in his Faust : " How grand a spectacle ! but ah ! — no
more ! " —

Perhaps it may come from my being too decidedly an
ear-man ; but I, of ail people, pass such long periods entirely
without any sort or kind of sustenance for my hearing, that
neither would that appear to meet the case. There must
be some indescribable inner sense, which is altogether clear
and active only when the outward-facing senses are as if
a-dream. When I strictly neither see nor hear distinctly
any longer, this sense is at its keenest, and shews its function
as creative calm : I can call it by no other name. Whether
this calm is ail one with that plastic repose which you
mean, I cannot say ; merely I know that this calm of mine
works from within to without, with it I am at the world's
centre ; whereas so-called plastic repose seems to me rather
the application of outward forms to the allaying of inner
unrest If I feel myself in that inner unrest, no picture,
no work of plastic art can take effect on me : it rebounds
like a flimsy ball. Then nothing but a gaze beyond, will
serve me to see what can calm me. And this, too, is the
only gaze that affects me sympathetically in others — this

* Taken in conjunction with p. 138, this entirely bears out the con-
tention oi Dr. Geo. M. Gould (Philadelphia) and myself, that a great
deal of Wagner's malaise proceeded from eye-strain. As hinted in
a footnote to Z^ iv, 151, though I still reserve details, one of the most
eminent ophthalmologists in London has lately informed me that he
tested Wagner's eyes in 1877, and found the patient to have long been
suffering from astigmatism — a defect of curvature then quite recently
discovered, but far more common than most of us suspect. In i860
Wagner would about have arrived at that critical period when the ocular
changes incidental to advancing middle-life are attended with more active
pain etc., such as we know from a letter of Minna's (see p. 254 inf.) to
have been the case. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 20I

gaze over the world and away. It also is the only one that
understands the world ; thus Calderon gazed, and who
has turned life, and bloom, and beauty, to more wondrous
poetry than he? —

Goethe in Rome is a very delightful and most important
occurrence : what he garnered there, fell to everyone's good ;
and thereby he decidedly saved Schiller the need of seeing
for himself. The latter could thenceforth make excellent
shift, and shape his noblest works ; whereas Goethe pushed
his lust of the eye to a hobby, in time, and at last we find
him bitten with a mania for collecting coins. He was a
whole and utter eye-man.

If we let him lead us where are things to be seen, we
are sure to be splendidly led. In Rome youVe done quite
right to go with him ; at his side may a feeling of gracious
repose descend on your eyes of a child ! See for me as
well ; and let me ever hear such exquisite reflections,
as this first time ! —

There isn't much to say about myself, child. A man
who is running from pillar to post, to get a fitting concert-
hall to open its doors to him, ought to be no concern of yours
in Rome : he oughtn't even to tell you how he feels about it.

But give Otto my kindest regards, and tell him that
much is soon likely to come to a head ; on the first of May
I think of opening tny German Opera in the Salle Venta-
dour. All the best German • singers are accepting with
enthusiasm ; Frau Ney, [Frau] Mayer-Dustmann (Vienna),
Tichatschek, Niemann and others, have sworn themselves
under my banner, even with readiness for financial sacrifices.
Fve a notion I soon shall get everything fixed ; then
Tannhauser and Lohengrin to begin with, and practice of
Tristan meanwhile, so that it may be played somewhere
about from the ist to the i6th of June. Thus — I must
try to help myself, but it doesn't sound like Rome ! —

202 WAGNER TO MATHBLDE WESENDONCK

You knew I had a mind to pass an interval in nothing
but some outward occupation like this: now I have been
compelled to, particularly through the miscarriage of the
Carlsruhe Tristan. My whole present scheme is directed
at nothing but the possibility of treating myself to my
Tristan : after that, I shall most likely let it drop s^ain.
I have nothing further in view; Fve quite enough bother
with this — and were I Goethe, I'd come to you people in
Rome to-day, you may be perfectly sure! —

And now for a beautiful, bright, sunny year ! I feel
uncommonly glad at your being in Rome, under Italy's
sky! A thousand heartfelt greetings to Otto and the
children.

With faithful love,

Your
R. W.

100.

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

■

PARIS LETTERS 203

little prelude was so inscrutably new to the bandsmen, that
J positively had to lead my men from note to note as if
-exploring for gems in a mine.

Billow, 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 liow 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
^niust 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

* See pages 147 and 198. Hans had arrived in Paris Jan. 17 (en
gar^on), to help in Wagner's concerts, chiefly with training the chorus*
also to give pianoforte recitals of his own. — Tr.

204 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

remaining task, and for it my daemon 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 1 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 — ^youVe my last
consolation ! —

Just two words more, anent my 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 ^clat, amaze, entrancemenL
The sensation is quite immense ; strange experiences, con-
versions, 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 j^ou its stainless
buds ! —

Many sincere good wishes to Otto ; tell him I love
him ! Farewell, my precious, noble child ! Live softly

* January 25, i860. The main body of the programme was that of
the three Wagner-concerts at Zurich seven years before: it consisted
of the HolldtuUr overture, the choral "march," introduction to act iii.
Pilgrims' chorus, and overture of Tannhduser; then a pause, followed
by the prelude to Tristan und Isolde^ the prelude, Bridal-procession
scene, introduction to act iii and Bridal chorus, from Lohengrin. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 205

and inwardly on, and strengthen me thereby! With
loyal love

Your R. W.

101.

Paris, March 3, 60.

I mean to make to-day for once a feast-day : I will write
to you, Lady-friend ! Advisedly and with kind consideration
I have often dropped the pen which I repeatedly had taken
up of late to write you. My need is great, and I wish to
earn its fulfilment ; so Til see what friendly scraps of news
I can scrape together for you.

First rU describe what now stands on my chimney-piece
— in place ol^^penduk, *Tis a singular object On a mount
of red velvet is spread a silver shield, the length of its rim
filled up with emblems from my poems, from Rienzi to
Tristan u. Isolde. Upon this shield, within a silver wreath —
one bough of laurel, the other oak — lies a massive silver
sheet of music, half rolled up : on this roll leading themes
from my operas are carved in musical notation. A beautiful
silver pen rests in the twigs of the wreath, above the sheet
of music ; the boughs are bound together by a golden fillet,
on which stands written :

"Des rechten Mannes Herz muss iiberstromen in
der Sonnenhohe grosser Manner," — and then : " Dem
hohen Meister gewidmet in aufrichtiger Verehrung von

Richard Weiland."*
This Richard Weiland is a simple citizen of Dresden,

* " A true man's heart must e'en brim over in the noontide of great
men '' — : " Dedicated to the exalted Master, in sincere veneration, by
Richard Weiland." Glasenapp informs us that the sender, son of the
historical painter Wilhelm Weiland, was bom in 1829, and had devoted
himself to literature ; for a short time he appeared on the acting stage,
but, in view of his youth, that can scarcely 1 have been until after Wagner
himself had left Dresden.- Tr.

206 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

whom I never knew there, but who paid me a visit once
at Zurich — in the Asyl — ^and furnished me that droll criticism-
of the Prague representation of Tannhauser with his simple-
statement that the overture, which merely lasted 12.
minutes under myself at Dresden, was 20 minutes long..
— I found his gift, with a most unassuming note, awaiting,
me one evening when I came home fagged-out by coaching
my choruses. — So I now have the baton * and this piece of
plate.

Here my concerts! have gained me some very firstrate:
devotees.

Gasp^RINI, a kind doctor of great skill and education^
but seemingly about to give up his profession for literary
and poetic work ; a man of fine, refined exterior and great
warmth of heart, only perhaps a shade wanting in energy,.
— belonged to me even before my arrival, and is now the
most zealous and persistent champion of my cause. He
has got the " Courier du Dimanche " to open to him for
that.—

In ViLLOT I have won an admirable brain, a clear and
delicate mind of unusual culture, emancipated from alL
prejudice. This man (who married off a son the other day)i
is Conservateur des Musses du Louvre, and as such has
entire custody of the [national] art-treasures. He has
written a history of the Louvre collections, a giant work
that cost him 15 years of unremitting toil. — Now imagine
it : this man had possessed all my scores long ere I made
his acquaintance, has studied them closely, and now is quite
happy at my being able to get Hartels to supply him with
a Tristan partitur already.} He has quite surprised me

* A gift from Frau Wesendonck, after a design by Semper.
t See page 204 ; the second took place Feb. i, the third Feb. 8. — Tr.
. t It is to Fr. Villot that Wagner dedicated the famous " Music of the
Future " a few months later — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 20/

by the keenness of his judgment, especially anent the
capabilities of his own nation ; to which he belongs com-
pletely as regards expression, whereas he far transcends it
in his spirit : his is a very handsome and distinguished head.
I have not yet taken advantage of his offer of a minute
inspection of the treasures of the Louvre, with himself for
cicerone, and probably shall be unable to for a long, long
time.

Among several others, I may also mention the novelist
Champfleury, whose brochure, outcome of a first impres-
sion, I have already sent you : he has a very pensive, sad,
appealing eye. His friend the poet Baudelaire has written
me a couple of wonderful letters, but does not wish to be
presented to me till he has finished some verses with which
he proposes to honour me. — I have told you of Franck-
Marie :* he has written a good deal about me, but personally
remains a stranger yet.

Then there's a young painter, Gustave Dor£, who
already has a great name here : he has made a drawing,
intended for the Illustration^ representing me as conductor
of an orchestra of spirits in an Alpine landscape. Further,
there are numerous musicians and composers, who have
declared themselves for me enthusiastically ; among them
Gounod, a suave, good, purely but not deeply gifted man ;

Louis Lacombe, L£on Kreutzer, Stephan Heller.

Of importance as a really profound musician is Sensale,t
who will play me my scores by and by.

A Mr. Perrin, of note as painter, past Director of the
Op6ra comique, and presumably future ditto of the Grand,
is most devoted to me, and has written very beautifully about
me in the Revue Europ^enne.

Berlioz has fallen victim to envy ; my efforts to keep

* Another missing letter ? — Tr. f Obviously Saint-Sacns.

2o8 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

friends with him have been frustrated through the brilliant
reception, to him intolerable, of my music. As a fact, he
finds himself seriously crossed by my appearance in Paris
on the eve of a production of his Trojans ; moreover, his
unlucky star has given him a wicked wife, who lets herself
be bribed to influence her very weak and ailing husband.
His behaviour to me has been a constant hovering between
friendly inclination and repulsion of an object of envy. Very
late,* yet so as not to be obliged to record the impressions
of a repeated hearing of my music, did he publish his report,
which you will probably have read. I could but deem right
to reply to his ambiguous, nay, rancorous allusions to the
" Music of the Future " ; an answer you will find in the
Journal des D^bats of February 22.t

Rossini has behaved much better. A jest about my
unmelodiousness had been fathered upon him, and greedily
colported even into German papers. Well, he expressly
dictated a disclaimer, declaring that he knew nothing of
mine but the Tannhauser march, which had given him the
greatest pleasure, and moreover, that, from all he knew of me,
he held me in high esteem. Such seriousness in the old
Epicurean surprised me. —

Finally I have yet another conquest to announce, namely
of a Marshal, Magnan, who attended all 3 of my concerts,
and displayed the greatest interest. As I unfortunately am
bound to want such a man well-instructed about me, for
sake of certain circles, I paid him a call, and was really
astonished at his expressions : he had had to hit out left
and right, and couldn't conceive how people could hear
anything else in my music than just such music as Gluck

• Journal des D^bats, Feb. 9 ; see *• A travers Chants.** — Tr.
t See Prose Works III.; further, the passage about Rossini is
developed in vol. IV. of the same collection. — ^Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 209

and Beethoven had written, only with the special stamp of
genius "of a Wagner." —

I can't unearth a single copy of my concert-programmes
for you to-day ; but you shall have one yet. Then you
will see that they did not turn out too intime, I laid your
reflections to heart, and even the words upon Tristan [cf.
p. 198] contained nothing but a note about the subject —

Now rU tell you a little more about the concerts. The
string-instruments were capital, 32 violins, 12 violas, 12
violoncellos, 8 double-basses : an uncommonly sonorous mass,
the hearing of which would have caused you great joy, only
the rehearsals were still too inadequate, and I couldn't quite
extort the proper piano. The wind-instruments were merely
partly good ; none of them had energy. To specify : the
oboe remained pastoral all the time, never rising to passion ;
the horns were miserable, and cost me many a sigh (their
wretched blowers excused their repeated false entries by
the disconcerting effect of my signal) ; trombones and
trumpets had no brilliance. Everything was atoned in the
end, however, by the really great enthusiasm for me that
possessed the whole orchestra from first to last desk, and
proclaimed itself so openly throughout the performances
themselves that Berlioz is said to have been stupefied.

Thus the three nights turned out positive festivals, and
as far as demonstrations of enthusiasm go, the Zurich festivals
were a mere shadow compared with them ; the audience
was riveted from first to last. I had made a new close for
the overture of the " flying Dutchman," which pleases me
much, and also made an impression on my hearers [cf.
Life iv, 301]. But childlike shouts of joy broke out directly
after the natty melody in the Tannhauser-march, and as
often as that melody returned, the same explosion was
repeated ; a frank child-heartedness which put me in quite
a good humour, for never yet had I heard such immediate

2IO WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

outbursts of delight. The Pilgrims' chorus was sung very
tamely and ineffectively the first time; afterwards it went
better. The Tannhauser - overture, played with great
virtuosity, always earned me many a call. The prelude to
Tristan wasn't played to my liking before the third concert :
on that evening it much rejoiced me. The audience, also,
seemed thoroughly stirred by it ; for, when an opponent
ventured to hiss — after the applause — such a storm broke
forth, and so intense, protracted, and continually renewed,
that poor I hardly knew what to do on my platform, and
had to motion people to leave off, for God's sake, I was
satisfied ; but that sent the temperature up again, and once
more the storm broke loose. In short, I never passed
through such a thing before. —

All the pieces from Lohengrin produced an immense
effect from the beginning ; orchestra and audience almost
carried me on their hands after each. I can express it no
otherwise — they were festival-nights. —

And now the child will be asking in wonder, why I
am not content with such beautiful experiences, and look
so dolefully ahead? — Eh, thereby hangs a tale,* but all
I can say, is : Festival-keeping is easy — and — I want no
feasts ; such nights remain something beyond me, they
are intoxicants, nothing else, and leave the after-effects of
all inebriation ; — if I only were differently built, tho', it
might pass. As a matter of fact, I have made a long stride ;
so I might take a good rest now, wait comfortably for what
is coming next, and what folk assure me is certain to come —
Fame, Honour, and all else ? A precious fool I should be !
Think of it : I was distracted all the evening of my first
concert because a certain Receveur G6n6ral had not arrived
yet from Marseilles ; and what about this individual ?-^He

* The enormous pecuniary losses faintly hinted toward the letter's
close.-^Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 2 1 I

was the wealthy man who, GaspMni had assured me, was
keenly interested in my proposal to get my operas performed
in France, and might easily be induced to give me his
energetic support in it I had nothing in eye but the
possibility of a first production of the Tristan in May, in
Paris with German singers ; that was the solitary goal
toward which I was steering, on which I staked everything,
and in particular the frantic strain of these 3 concerts. My
wealthy man was to run over from Marseilles ; the success
of my music was to make him declare himself prepared to
give the needful guarantee for the said operatic adventure.
Finally the man arrives, for the third concert : he has a big
<]inner on that night, at Mirfes' ; still — he does come to the
concert, for an hour, and — proves a magnificent Frenchman,
immensely ; delighted, but afterwards sceptical of a German
operatic enterprise, and so on. —

So I had again been a regular child ! Really, I always
know it beforehand ; and yet one hopes — and dares — ^because
a goal stands out before one, a goal one deems so requisite.
And all the use of me, all the sense remaining in my life,
is solely to look at that goal and overlook everything that
lies between myself and it. Only in sight of that goal,
indeed, can I still live ; how can I live, if Tm to turn my
eye from the goal and plunge it in the gulf that parts me
from it?

Maybe others should do that for me, and hold me in
the air ; but who has a right to ask that of anyone ? Does
not each of us live with a goal in his eye, only that it just
is not the goal of the eccentric? So it happens, child,
that once again the stupid master must look deep and
long into the gulf alone : — ah, how he feels in his heart
then ! No scene in Dante's Hell has ghastlier abysses ! —
Indication enough. — And the goal (?), for all that, remains
the only thing that keeps life in me !— But how to reach it ? —

212 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCX

Yes, Lady-friend, 'tis the truth: once more all's night
around me ! Had I no more goals, it were easily otherwise ;
but now I have simply to climb out with untold toil and
trouble from the gulf in which I lately had to plunge again
with wellnigh deliberate blindness. Not yet can I so much
as see the plateau whence to fix my gaze upon the goal
again. — When I last perceived the ineluctable necessity of
staking all and everything at present on a first production
of my Tristan, I also told myself: With this goal in eye,
there can now be no abasement more for thee ; all and
aught thou doest to attain to means and power, can hold
nothing to shame thee, and whoso might not comprehend
thee if he saw thee treading unaccustomed paths, thou
might'st reply to him : " What know'st thou of my goal ? "
— For, he alone can comprehend me, who first has
comprehended that. —

Well, every day brings forth new plans ; now this,
now that contingence looms before me. I'm so indissolubly
banned to this work, that I would gladly bring my life as
sacrifice — in sober earnest — and swear to will to live not
one day longer, when once I have produced my work.
So perhaps it's not inconsequent, that I should now be
possessed with the notion — instead of all the labours and
humiliations I should have to undergo to arrive at the
required means through " Parisian successes " — just of taking
up the simplest cross and going to Dresden, getting myself
tried, passed sentence on, and — pardoned, for all I care;
to be able, unmolested then, to seek on the spot for the
best German theatre, produce my Tristan there, and dis-
solve the spell which so holds me now that nothing else
seems worth an ounce of trouble. Indeed it appears
wellnigh the most rational course; methinks it resembles
an unpardonable love of self, to refuse any manner of torture
or shame that might lead to my work's redemption ; for

PARIS LETTERS 213

what am 7, without my work? — And add to that this
other: I dorCt believe in my operas in French; all I do
toward that end is against the inner voice which I can
deaden but with levity or violence. I believe neither in
a French Tannhauser, nor in a French Lxjhengrin ; to say
nothing of a French Tristan, My every step towards it,
too, remains unblest : a demon — my daemon ? — is at work
against me in it all. Only at command of a despot could
all the personal obstacles be beaten back, that rear
themselves against my advent to the Paris Opera-house ;
but Fve no true zeal to compass that. Before all, what
concern of mine are my old works, grown all but indifferent
to me? Repeatedly I catch myself in the most utter lack
of interest in them. And then the French translations ! I'm
bound to think them clean impossible ; the few verses
translated for my concert cost unspeakable pains, and were
insufferable ; neither is a single whole act from my operas
translated as yet, in spite of endless labours, whilst what^
thereof exists is odious to me. Moreover, the tongue itself
is one of the principal reasons why everything here remains
strange to me ; the torment of a conversation in French
fatigues me hugely, and I often break off in the midst of
an argument, like a castaway who tells himself : " Indeed
it isn't possible, and everything's in vain ! " Then I
feel too deplorably homeless, and ask myself: Where dost
thou, then, belong? A question I can answer with
no country's name, no town's, no hamlet's ; all, all are
foreign to me, and wistfully I often look towards the land
Nirvana. Nirvana in its turn, however, soon changes into
Tristan ; you know the Buddhist theory of the world's
creation : A breath perturbs the heaven's translucence : —

IT ; it swells, condenses, and at last the
whole wide world stands forth, in prisoning solidity. 'Tis my

214 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

old, old fate, so long as IVe such unredeemed spirits stilt
about me ! —

I have something homelike still about me, tho', which
I'm soon to be deprived of — Biilow. The poor young man
is slaving himself to the bone here, and I get little enough
of him ; he cannot visit me often, yet it's a comfort even to
know that he's here. Dear Heaven, it does me so much
good, to be able to converse naturally ; and that I now can
do with him alone. He is and remains most attached to
me, and it often is touching to get behind the secret pains
he constantly is taking for me ; whereon he turns quite
mournful if I tell him that it all can not avail. But I want
to give him one delight before he goes, and tell him : You
have sent him greetings through me. —

I have now to submit to a little business being done
with me, to try and clear a little of the fearful havoc the
expenses of my concerts have left behind them. One
[Belloni ?] proposes that I should give the identical concert
thrice at Brussels, under conditions which ensure me a small
profit. I suppose I shall have to ; so be prepared to hear
from me next from thence. Of London, too, one speaks to
me. It's sad enough ; but I cannot die as yet, you know. —

And now it will be well. Lady-friend, if I draw to a
close : I clearly see there's no more friendly tidings to
squeeze out, and already I've much overstepped the line*
However, my heart is somewhat lighter since at least I've
been able to write you again : thanks for affording me that t
And many kind messages to Otto and the children ; let me
hear how you all are doing. With faithful love

Your
R. W.

102.

Paris, April lO, 6o.
But dearest, precious Child, why so absolutely not a line ?

PARIS LETTERS 21 5

Must I always ask first ; can't one so much as write to poor
me without waiting to have to answer? — I'm really quite
uneasy ; I wrote Otto not so long ago :* no reply from him
either I So nothing is left me save dreaming. I eke things
out with that, dream much and often ; but even pleasant
dreams have something to alarm me, because one has to bear
in mind, according to the rules of dream-divining, that when
the object of solicitude appears to us well and serene, the
very slightest excess denotes the opposite. But what a
sorry aid are dreams ! If one remembers much of what one
dreams, itself that points to nothing but the vacancy of our
waking existence, and I always think of [Keller's] green
Henry, who finished by nothing but dreaming. —

you bad child ! Even your last letter — and that was
ages back — told me so little, all but nothing, of yourself :
is my silly fate to be ever the sole thing worth talking of ? I
almost doubt if these lines will catch you still in Rome : it
would be just like the pair of you, to start away without a
word of warning when or whither ! You see, I scold : a few
days since I might have drawn it milder; but I'm getting
crosser every day. —

Please write me reams on how you are, what you're
seeing, how you pass your time, what acquaintances you've
made, how it goes with your welfare, and everything of that
sort. Indeed you did promise to give me a peep into your
camera-obscura now and then ; and all at once totally ex-
communicated ? Oh, it's easy to see where you live !

1 almost ought not to breathe a word about myself for
this once : but what do I know of your own news ? Nothing,
except that I don't know : true philosophic consciousness !
And of myself?? Neither head nor tail is to be made
of that in my lifetime, dearest child, above all by a

Not published ; perhaps lost in the post. — Tr«

2l6 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

level-headed person. For instance, I am felicitated now by
all common-sense people, and all the world thinks me
swimming in bliss and delight since Tve attained the quite
incredible, and one of my operas is to be produced at last
in Paris. "Can he possibly want more?" they say. And
just think : I have never been more weary of the whole
affair, and to each of my congratulators I snarling shew
my teeth. — That's the man I am ! Nobody can satisfy,
and nothing suits me. So people let me be ; and with
that 1 must put up, in the end. — Toward yourself, tho*, I'll
not behave so churlishly. —

You know, child, that our sort of folk look neither
right nor left, neither before nor behind ; that Time and
World are matters of indifference to us, and only one thing
sways us — the need to unburden our bosom : accordingly
you also know what alone in reality can lie at my heart.
But were it otherwise, — had I already finished with the
inner store, and henceforth durst merely look around and
keep in view my works' results, the conditions I call forth,
the service of which I may be, — then I might find enough
of serious and edifying entertainment if I looked around
me. I cannot contradict my new French friends when,
looking forward to the possibility, nay rather, certainty of
a great effect even of my Tannhauser on the Paris public,
they see in it a factor of unprecedented weight, to which
they assign an importance to be compared with nothing else
conceivable.

A man who can look calmly at the life of so gifted
but incredibly wasted a nation as the French, and interest
himself in all that makes for its ennobling and develop-
ment, — I can't find fault with such a man, if he beholds
in the reception of a French Tannhauser an absolutely
vital question for these men's adaptability. Reflect how
starved is all French art ; that poesy, more strictly speaking,

PARIS LETTERS 217

IS altogether foreign to this folk, which knows nothing in
its place save rhetoric and eloquence. Owing to the ex-
clusiveness of the French language, and its inability to adopt
the poetic element foreign to itself by means of transference
from another, there remains but one way open to bring
Poesy to bear upon the French — the way of Music, But
then, you see, neither is the Frenchman constitutionally
musical, and all his music he has gotten from abroad.
From of old the French musical style has been formed by
mere contact with Italian and German music, and strictly
is nothing but a cross twixt these two styles. But Gluck,
if you look at him closer, taught the French nothing more,
than how to bring music into accord with the rhetorical
style of French Trag^die — at bottom there was no question
here of genuine poesy — wherefore the Italians have been
able to keep almost the whole of the field for themselves
even since his time. For it has ever been a matter of
mere manner in the rhetoric, but apart from that, as little
of music as of poesy.

Well, the havoc hence arisen, and increasing to this day,
is simply past belief. To find out the capacities of the
singers at the Op^ra, I was compelled a few nights since to
hear the new opus of a Prince Poniatowski ; oh, my
feelings ! ! What a longing seized me for the very simplest
mountain-vale in Switzerland ! ! As I came home it was
exactly as if I had been murdered, and every possibility had
vanished into air. Yet I have learnt how the very ghastli-
ness of an impression may simply add force to the counter-
effects, and make them of greater scope. " You see how it
stands," friends said to me, " and what we await and demand
of you ! " Those who tell me this, are men who have not
set foot within the opera-house for 20 years, had frequented
none but the Conservatoire and Quartet concerts, and finally
— before knowing me — had studied my scores; not mere

2l8 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

musicians either, but painters, men of letters — even of the
State. They tell me, "What you bring, has never been
remotely offered us before ; for with music you bring us
full poesy ; you bring a whole, and wholly self-supported,
independent of every influence that hitherto has been ex-
erted by our institutes on the artist who wished to present
himself to us. Moreover, you bring it in perfection of form,
and with the greatest power of expression : the most
ignorant Frenchman himself could wish to alter nothing of
it ; he must receive it entire, or reject it in the lump. And
there resides the great significance we attach to the coming
event : if your work is repulsed, we shall know what's the
matter with us, and give up hope ; if it's welcomed, and that
at one blow (for a Frenchman can be influenced no other
way), we all shall breathe once more ; for it is not literature
and science, but only the directest art of the Theatre, the
most universal in its operations, that can stamp itself deep
on the views of our national spirit. However, — ^we feel
sure of the greatest and most abiding impression." —

In fact the Director himself, now that he knows the
subject better, is boasting to everybody that with Tann-
hauser he can reckon at last on a real ** succ^s d'argent."

In Brussels, too, I had many a talk with a remarkable
old man, a very witty, shrewd and seasoned diplomat
[" Papa " Klindworth], yet who recommends me from his
heart not to lose sight of the French : let one think and
say what one likes, it remains undeniable (according to him)
that at present the French are the actual prototype of
European civilisation, and to produce a decided effect upoa
them is to operate upon the whole of Europe. —

It really all sounds most encouraging, and I suppose I
cannot get away from the importance I'm to be of to the
world. But strange to say, I don't care much for Europe
or the world, and at bottom of my heart I tell myself:

PARIS LETTERS 219

What business of thine is it all ? As said however, I per-
ceive that I shan't get away from it : oh, my daemon takes
good care of that ; the surest guarantee for my indefeasible
effect upon Europe is — my want !

I tell it you quite candidly, so that you may form no
false notions about me, — may not believe, for example,,
that the said vain assumption is driving me to anything
which strictly lies beyond me. Those Paris concerts have
brought me to an incalculable plight: even Brussels I
undertook for nothing but to help myself out of the hole,,
and that also turned out the opposite ; so that on my
departure (much as Rossini once said after the fiasco of a
" carefully " wrought opera, ** Si jamais on me prend k
soigner ma partition ") I told myself, " Si jamais on me
prend k faire de Targent I " Germany stays mum to me, and
if ever Fm to meet with Tristan and the Nibelungen in my
lifetime, I must contrive veritable miracles now, to keep my
head above the waters of this blessed life. So I accept the
hopes of my Paris friends, in particular of my Opera-director ;
and as every grand chance has an unfortunate knack of
being a trifle behindhand, for the present I'm not half
disinclined to sell myself to a Russian general, who is shortly
to arrive here to iacquire me for a S. Petersburg Tannhauser
expedition.* I pray you to join in my laughter : indeed
there is no other way to help me out of the ridiculous
contradictions in which this redemption-craving world leaves
its anticipated saviour I

Meanwhile I must gather my wits, to write a — grand
ballet What do you say to that? Have you doubts of
me? You shall beg my pardon for them by-and-by, when

* Though the S. Petersburg offer (a bona fide one) would have placed
;£i,ooo in Wagner's pocket on the spot, and an equal amount later on,
he honourably declined it for sake of the Paris Grand Op6ra — which
eventually brought him worse than nothing; see letter of June 5 to
Otto.— Tr.

220 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCX

you hear and see it. Thus much to go on with : not a note,
not a word of my Tannhauser will be altered ; but a ballet
there imperatively had to be, and that ballet was to occur
in the second act because of the Optra's abonnds always
reaching the theatre somewhat late, after a heavy dinner,
never at the commencement Well, I have declared I could
accept no dictates from the Jockey Club, and should withdraw
my work ; I mean to help them [the authorities] out of their
straits, however: the opera needn't begin before 8 o'clock,
and then I'll add a decent culmination to the unhallowed
Venusberg.

This Court of Frau Venus was the palpable weak spot
in my work : without a good ballet in its day, I had to
manage with a few coarse brush-strokes, and thereby ruined
much ; for I left this Venusberg with an altogether tame
and ill-defined impression, consequently depriving myself of
the momentous background against which the ensuing tragedy
is to upbuild its harrowing tale. All later reminiscences
and warnings, whose grave significance should send a shudder
through us (the only explanation of the plot), lost wellnigh
all effect and meaning : dread and instant trepidation kept
aloof from our minds. But I also recognise that, when I
wrote my Tannhauser, I could not have made anything like
what is needed here ; it required a greater mastery, by far,
which only now have I attained : now that I have written
Isolde's last transfiguration, at last I could find alike the
right close for the Fliegender-Hollander overture, and also —
the horrors of this Venusberg. One becomes omnipotent,
you see, when the World but exists as one's plaything.
Naturally I shall have to invent the whole thing for myself,
to be able to prescribe the smallest nuance to the ballet-
master ; it is certain, however, that nothing save Dance can
lend effect and execution here : but what a dance ! The
good people shall stare in amazement at all I'll have hatched

PARIS LETTERS 221

there. 1 haven't arrived at jotting anything down as yet:
I will here make my first attempt with a few indications ;
don't be surprised at its occurring in a letter to Elisabeth i

Venus and TannhAuser remain as in the original
directions : but — the three GRACES lie couched at their feet,
locked picturesquely in each other's arms. A whole tangle
of children's limbs surrounds the couch ; these are the
slumbering Amoretti, who have fallen atop of one another
in their childlike romps, and then asleep.

All around pairs of lovers are resting on projections of
the grotto. In the middle only Nymphs are dancing, teased
by Fauns whom they seek to elude. The movement of this
group increases : the Fauns become more boisterous, the
Nymphs' coy flight incites the males of the reclining pairs
to their protection. Jealousy of the forsaken females :
waxing effrontery of the Fauns. Tumult. The Graces rise
and intervene, enjoining seemliness and order : they in turn
are accosted, but the young men chase the Fauns away :
the Graces reconcile the couples. — Voices of Sirens are
heard. — Then a tumult from the distance. The Fauns, bent
on vengeance, have summoned the Bacchantes to their aid.
The Wild Hunt storms on, after the Graces have reclined
once more in front of Venus. The yelling retinue brings
with it every kind of animal monster : from these a black
ram is selected, and diligently examined to see that it has
no white spot : amid cheers it is dragged to a waterfall ;
a priest fells it and offers it up, with dreadful gestures.

Suddenly, amid wild huzzaings of the throng, the northern
Stromkarl (known to you •) emerges from the foaming water
with his marvellous big fiddle. He plays up for a dance,
and you may imagine all I must invent to give this dance

* Among Mathilde Wesendonck's poems is a ballad on the Nicker.
[Neither this incident, nor that at end of the preceding paragraph, is
embodied in the final version. — ^Tr.]

222 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCX

its fitting character. More and more mythological freaks
are brought on, all the beasties sacred to the gods; even
centaurs at last, who stamp among the rioters. The Graces
are afraid to quell the hubbub ; then in utter despair they
fling themselves upon the mob : in vain ! Turning to Venus,
they look around for help : with a wave of her hand she
now awakes the Amoretti, who rain a perfect hail of darts
upon the rioters ; more and yet more, their quivers are
ever replenished. Then all form more definite pairs ; the
wounded reel into each other's arms ; a general frenzy of
desire. The arrows, whirring wild of aim, have hit the very
Graces ; no longer are they mistress of themselves.

Fauns paired with Bacchantes rush forth ; the Graces are
borne off on the Centaurs' backs ; all stagger toward the
background : the [young] couples lie down : the Amoretti,
shooting still, have gone in pursuit of their quarry.
Approaching lassitude. A mist descends. From greater
and still greater distance sounds the Sirens' cry. All be-
comes hid. Deep quiet. —

Finally Tannhauser awakes from his dream.* —

Something of that sort What do you say to it? — It
tickles me, to have been able to bring in the eleventh varia-
tion of my Stromkarl, for that explains why Venus and her
court have moved off north : only there could one find the
fiddler meet for these old gods to dance to. The black ram
also pleases me, tho' it I could replace : shouting Mxnads
would merely have to carry in the murdered Orpheus ; his
head they would cast in the waterfall, — whereon my Stromkarl
would spring up. Only, without words that's less intelligible ;
what is your opinion ? — I wish I had Genelli aquarelles to go

* It will be observed that the two cloud-tableaux of the ultimate
version are not even suggested here. Some seven weeks hence, however,
they are introduced into a more detailed draft, together with a third
tableau — Diana and Endymion; see the "Wagner number" of Die
Afusik, Feb. 1905. — ^Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 223

by : he used to make these mythologic orgies very plausible.
I suppose, however, I shall have] to help myself again, tho' I
•still have several details to devise. —

So I've been and written you another Kapellmeister
letter, don't you think? And a ballet-master's letter into
the bargain this time. Won't it put you in a good humour ?

And yet you do not write to me ? Nor Otto either ? O
you bad, bad people ! Wherever am I to get letters from, to
give me joy, then ? And you know perfectly well that no-
thing else can give me proper joy ! Yes, one thing — when I
give myself something to do with you.

Only yesterday the Brussels people sent my photographic
-portrait after me, which to me appears highly successful ; so
•of course I thought at once of you. If you will write me
very nicely soon, and tell me about when you're returning to
Zurich, I'll send to Herr Stiinzig, or whomever you name,
this picture that will tell you how I look now ; and let it be
hung above the piano in the picture-gallery. As you've
taken all your house to Rome with you, there won't be a
-single friend to welcome you on your return if I don't put in
an appearance, at least in the picture-room.

Only imagine my having clean forgotten Otto's birthday
this time ! I knew quite well what March brings round, but
the day, the day I couldn't think of [i6th]. Moreover, I had
absolutely nothing fit to give him, so you must ask him to
wait till next March : evidently I shall be a rich man by
then, throwing millions all round me. — Apart from that,
remember, my dear child, that I still have nothing upon
^arth but you ; that for you, through you, with you, do I
live, and all my pastime has for me this only charm — that
I can make it voice to you my lack, and you give ear to it
tso fondly. Adieu, my child ! A thousand heartfelt wishes :
if they're too many for yourself, then give of them to your
good man and children. R. W.

224 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCX

103.

Paris, May 2, 6o.

I really can't let May come in, best Child, without
sending you another sign-of-life to Rome, as I presume
you will not stay there much longer. Could anything
withhold my hand from writing you to-day, 'twere only
that I have so absolutely nothing right to tell you ; how-
ever, you already know that it isn't what I write ab2 WAGNER TO RIATHILDE WESENDONCK

j And now for the draft of the new Tannhauser verses.

/ Get out your book ! Turn to " Venus (breaking into

wrath) " — after Tannhauser's third stanza — down to the

words :

" Zieh hin, Bethorter, suche dein Heil !
" Suche dein Heil, und find* es nie ! " —

Then something like this is to follow : —

" Die du bekampft, die du besiegt,

" Die du verhohnt mit jubelndem Stolz,

" Flehe sie an, die du verlacht ; " [elc*]

108.

Oct. 24, 60.

A hurried word, my dearest Child !

Your last lines made me profoundly and heartily glad,
—as one always feels after alarm.-f-

The [missing] letter must have got here on a most
unlucky day, just as I was packing off my servant, whom
I had previously had the greatest difficulty in tolerating.
He had frequently committed the offence of forgetting my
letters and carrying them about with him for days, if they

* The whole of the new draft dialogue is given in the German edition
of these letters, but a reproduction is quite needless here, as the only
variants from the modern textbooks (down to 1901) are the following:
*' Sclaven nie" for " Sklave, weich 1 " ^^ gesparf* — ^for " erspart " — and a tiny
point or two in punctuation. On the other hand, though the form given in
modem textbooks prior to the very latest edition (1901) is that of Wagner's
Ges, Schr. ii (1871), the wording differs considerably in the revised German
score : a riddle solved at once by that article in Die Musik (cf. p. 238),
where Dr. Golther shews that the music for this new scene was set to
the French translation, and therefore Wagner had subsequently to re-adapt
his German draft to fit it. — Tr.

t See letter of Oct. 20 to Otto : *' On the 1st of October " — meaning
Sept. 30, unless the letter spread over two days — *• I wrote your wife ; I'm
much disturbed at having had no news since then, as I hoped to find at
least a word of welcome on my entry into my new abode." — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 253

had been handed to him by the postman ; for which I had
often blown him up severely. Now — it was precisely in
that week that I sent him about his business ; he had to
quit my house in half an hour (for good reasons). Another
letter, also, has never reached me : now everything is clear, —
whether from knavery or fright, he didn't give the letters
up, on leaving. — I shall try to hunt him up ; if that doesn't
succeed — ah ! you must write me all over again. I give
everyone exactly as much trouble as I give myself : we must
bear it between us.

I am very fatigued : people here are too unremittingly
industrious for me. Not the least irritation — but very great
strain !

A thousand fine greetings !
I must be off again !

Just one more greeting, tho' !

R. W.

109.

Paris, Nov. 13,60.

Dear precious Child, fair kindly soul, have thanks for
all your messages!

You shall have a brief bulletin from me as often as
possible.

I am picking up^very slowly — but still picking up.
— I have scarcely any recollection of the first week of
my illness, but now my mind is gradually clearing.* For

* Two or three days after letter 108, Wagner had been compelled
to give up his attendance at the opera-house, owing to what is vaguely
described by contemporaries as '* a typhoid fever, the crisis of which was
marked by all the symptoms of inflammation of the brain." The term
" typhoid/' however, must not be read in its specific modern sense, as in
those days it was indiscriminately applied to almost every kind of so-
called Mow' or 'nervous' fever. More probably it was an actual case
of subacute 'brain-fever,' brought on by worry and nervous strain
(including that of the eyes — see this letter's next sentence). — It really is

254 WAGNER TO RIATHILDE WESENDONCK

several days I was almost totally blind ; now I'm uncom-
monly weak, amazingly emaciated, with eyes deep-sunk.
You know that I am never wholly free from pain, which
nothing save nervous excitement could numb: now that I
have to avoid all excitement, you may guess what is left
of me ! —

Yet, too much is dangled in front of me still, and Life,
I suppose, will soon have back the whole of me !

Yesterday I was taken for a drive to the Champs Elys^es,
with a little walk in the sun, which did me good. I'm coming
round ; moreover, I've recovered patience. —

In my humble new abode the three Roman prints hang
framed above and round my couch! —

Adieu for to-day ; I can write no longer ! — ^Thanks, a
thousand thanks, 'and deep fidelity of heart! —

R. W.

instructive to compare the above with Minna's report to the Berlin friend
next day (Nov. 14, 60) : " Richard has certainly been ill, but thank God !
is now so far recovered as to have been able to take a walk with me
again, and consequently he thinks of attending the rehearsals of his
Tannhfluser after another few days. His illness lasted quite a fortnight
in all, and he brought it on himself through some over-exertion in teaching
their parts to the two lady-singers who are employed in the Tannh&user
[also, be it said, through *' a removal at which I was the only person, on
my side, who could speak French " — R. W. to Otto, Oct. 20. — Tr.]. In
addition he may have caught a slight cold, and as his nerves are always
quite excitable enough, that made them worse ; he was also very feverish.
But Richard was not actually confined to bed, as I have already heard
that the newspapers somewhat strongly exaggerated ; which is disproved
by the fact that Wagner is shewing himself to the Germans here, receiving
them, etc. — Unfortunately Richard is a very impatient invalid, and at such
times always vents his spleen on me. He will not obey, when one kindly
entreats him to anything; for instance, he wouldn't keep warm, and so
brought on an inflammation of the eyes through another chill. But that
also is happily got over, with the help of our excellent doctor [Gasperini],
so that he is able to write and read again now " {Die Gegenwart^
Oct. iS99)* One could have wished for a word of sympathy with his
present feebleness. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 255

110.

Paris, Nov. 17, 60.
Here comes another bulletin, my Child.
I'm mending — tho' the pace is very slow : the weather
will not favour me a bit, but keeps throwing me back ! Still
I've attended to a first affair, — I have been to the book-
binder. The pianoforte [Billow's * vocal '] score of Tristan
has at last appeared ; I had given H artels orders to send
a few copies to Zurich direct, among them one for Frau
Wille ; but naturally I was not going to polish Freundin
off like that : I bade a copy come to Paris, to be bound
here after my own heart and despatched to you by my
own hand. Well, it came at the very worst stage of my
illness : imagine my distress ! I had to see it lying there,
without the power to attend to it.

But I have been to the bookbinder now. That it will
turn out after my wish, alas ! I'm bound to doubt ; these
people are all so horribly devoid of ideas ! Probably I
shall have to content myself with something quite ordinary,
and you will have to make the best of good intentions. In
any case it will take long enough before it's finished, and
you'll have to reckon it as birthday-gift and Christmas-box
in one ! —

For the rest, I feel so — dead : I can describe it no other-
wise. A becalming without a puff of interest in existence ;
the future productions of my latest works all dream and
haze ; not a trace of wish or zeal within me ; my wretched
nerves always aching and much below par ; nothing but
the moment's excitement to give my state a better look ! —
And still — it goes, and go it will — but how ? God knows ! —
Why on earth are there spots on the sun ? Bright weather
is still the best aid. — Monday [19th] I mean to attend a
rehearsal again : I must learn to be duly composed. —

But, what a charming idea, your little dog ; do tell me

256 WAGNER TO RIATHILDE WESENDONCK

its name! Was that a master-stroke of friend Otto's
Believe me, you'll get plenty of joy from the beasty ; there
is something wonderfully composing in association with
dumb animals. I congratulate !

And now sincerest thanks for the kind messages that
came into my sick-room : Tm worried at their having ceased
for several days. Surely you are not ill yourself? Do
reassure me ! —

And a thousand hearty greetings to Wesendonck ; he
shall hear from me soon.

Good-bye and health be with you!

Your

R. W.

111.

[Latter part of November.*]
Merely a few lines, Lady-friend, but they will tell you
enough ! —

I'm doing my utmost to be able — by taking the greatest
possible care of myself — to attend rehearsals regularly every
day ; and this is how I manage it : —

At 10 o'clock I go to bed, remain sleepless as a rule
for 3, 4, to 5 hours ; then arise — very weak — ^about 10
in the morning ; after breakfast I lie down again, undertake
nothing, don't write a line, read a very little ; then dress
myself, go to the Op^ra — for i o'clock — attend a rehearsal ;
come home dead-beat between 4 and 5, lie down again
and try to doze ; dine at 5 J, then recline once more, receive
nobody except the doctor — not to have to speak; read a
little, and commence afresh as above. —

* I have reversed the German volume's order of letters 1 11- 11 2, and
consequently altered the date there conjectured for this one (** Dez,**), I
have done so, not only because of ample internal evidence, but as we
have documentary proof that Wagner resumed his superintendence of
the Op^ra rehearsals on the 20th November.— Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 257

You will see from this, how profoundly ill my wretched
nerves are. Never must I sing again ; the way I used to
render whole acts from my operas, however seldom, can
never be re-attempted : it is just those, always superhuman
exertions, I have to pay for now. Neither of my old
conducting of an orchestra can there be any further talk : —
accordingly, I don't know how I am ever to get to the
end of my life-task ! — Still, much is to be expected of
rest, great care and graduation, and at any rate I shall
improve in time. —

It is like you, to have thought of approaching my poor
self on the spot : yet I also think, Dame Reason's right.
Wait for Tannhauser, and perhaps not even the first
performances, but until I shall already have recuperated
somewhat : in a condition like my present, I can't be said
to exist at all. Please seek Otto's kind opinion ! —

I was delighted with what you told me of Frau Wille :
I had thought as much, and am cross with her for nothing
more. I really do know what she's worth, albeit she is
not made for action ; often we do not need this energy,
tho', but simply comprehension and good-feeling: and of
what value it is, to have found that! — Greet her for me
from my heart! —

And sincerest love^to all your family, together with the

good Papa I Weak and full of woe, but faithful aye and

thankful, I remain Yours

R. W.

112.

Paris, 3 Rue d'Aumale.

Dec. 4, 60.
In haste a heartfelt greeting to the precious Child, an
some relief! —

During the past week my recovery has made good

258 WAGNER TO RIATHILDE WESENDONCK

progress. Strength is returning ; Tm looking better ; people
are pleased with my appearance. —

So it has been a serious warning. It made a great
impression on me: I am carefully mapping my future, to
be able to fulfil my life-task ; yet I have hopes, again, that
I can fulfil it !—

Are you better satisfied, dear Liege ?

As for Tannhauser, we'll bide our time ; I don't conduct
the band myself, and the rehearsals over — all is over! —

Soon more from the

Living.

113.

For the 23rd December, i860.

I find I have still a sheet left of my colour,* Lady-friend ;
so it shall bear you my felicitation on your birthday.

What shall I wish, what offer you ? An utmost toilsome^
unresting existence makes — Rest appear to me the wishful
thing ; I long for it myself so yearningly, that I needs must
wish it others too, especially my Dearest, as sole and highest
good. It is so difficult to win to : in whom it was not born,,
he hardly ever will acquire it, and nothing but a total
crushing of his native character can bring him this victor's-
prize. Who remains in life like this, staking his nature
again and again on this life, may have grown very tranquil —
almost completely so, in fact — as regards much in its broader
issues ; but the little everyday affairs of life will ever sting
him, make him lose all patience and repose.

How curiously it fares with me ! All that sets the world
in motion, almost without an exception, leaves me cold
and unmoved. Fame has no sway at all, with me; Profit
only in so far as I may need it to keep me independent:

* Pale lilac, like most of these letters* originals ; see the Tristan
facsimile.

PARIS LETTERS 259

of taking any serious step for either, I never could dream.
To prove my point is also quite indifferent to me since Tve
learnt how unutterably few men are capable of so much as
understanding their fellows. Further, my very natural and
pardonable craving, to witness a fully adequate representation
of each of my works, has very much cooled down of late,
and particularly in this last year; renewed contact with
bandsmen, singers, and so on, has again wrung many a sigh
from me, and fed my resignation with strong food on this
side too. More and more have I to mark how measurelessly
far I've strayed from this — in our modern life the quite
invariable — basis of even my own art-fashionings, and
willingly do I admit that if I suddenly cast a glance now
on my Nibelungen or the Tristan, I startle as if from a
dream, and ask myself: "Where wast thou? — Thou wast
dreaming! Set wide thine eyes and see: lo! this is the
reality." —

Yes, I will not deny it, I strictly hold my later works
for downright inexecutable. And if the inner prompting
nevertheless revives, to realise a possibility e'en here, in turn
that's only possible through letting my poor brain roam
off again into the dream-world ; where untold, never-
precedented aids arise, and I trust myself with the enormous
power to draw them to me. Faced with an unbroken series
of experiences, however, of incredible weakness and super-
ficiality in all the persons and relations whereon the possibility
of my assumptions had reposed, here also Resignation gains
more and more predominance, and lends me that passivity
which turns with terror from a useless strife. I have come
to thinking very little of it now. —

So, if aught invigorates me for the present Tannhauser
affair, it is strictly nothing but my nature's inextirpable
propensity to rouse itself beneath the influence of artistic
aims. With difficulty can I force myself the whole day

26o WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

long, to take an interest in the thing ; but once I'm at
rehearsal, the immediateness of art resumes its hold on me :
I squander myself and my forces — and literally for a thing
that leaves me quite indifferent. —

In truth that is my case ! —

Yet see ! — how the whole breadth of heaven parts this
from the view which not alone the world, but all my own
acquaintances, nay, e'en my most devoted friend, still take
of me. I can truthfully say that it is almost solely this
mad but ineradicable opinion of everybody who draws near
me, that gives me pain : I may preach, waste anger, argu-
ment, or indignation, — I'm ever answered by the smile of
pity for a momentary loss of temper ! If people then could
only plumb my silence, when, pale and outwardly indifferent,
I suddenly break off, withdraw into my shell !

O my child ; where am I then to find my only, only
solace?— Once I did find the heart and soul that wholly
understood me in such moments, and held me dear because it
understood, and knew it understood me so ! See, to this soul
do I flee, then, let sink my limbs as one fatigued to death,
and dip my head in the soft aether of its kindly thought.
All that I lived through once, the untold emotions, cares
and sorrows of that past, dissolve as from a storm-cloud
to a quickening dew, which laves my burning temples ;
there do I feel refreshment and at last repose, sweet rest:
I am beloved— am known! —

And that repose, I lay it at your feet ! In gracious con-
sciousness of all you are to me— the angel of my calm, the
guardian of my life — may you also |find the noble fount
to steep the arid paths of your existence ! Share you my
calm, accept it from me whole to-day, as I enjoy it at this
instant when I sink my soul entire in yours ! My wish
this, this my offering!

R. W.

PARIS LETTERS 26 1

114.

Mardi Gras [February 12, 1861].

Fat Tuesday shall grant me a quiet morning at last,
Lady-friend, to tell you just a little of myself.

When I've a headful of nothing but the hundred details
of my present task, there seems to me no sense in speaking
of myself to you ; for this was ever the distinction of our
intercourse, that instinctively a sublimation of the truer core
of thought and action alone appeared to us worth heeding,
and, so to say, we felt ourselves emancipated from material
life forthwith, so soon as we but met. So, if I hunt all
the lumber out of my head, to get it clean-swept for you,
of course there's nothing but the marrow left there, and
no more need to talk about my plague. In return, a gloaming
melancholy then girdles-in the soul, and shews us all the
things without in their true empty light ; for nothing really is
of solid worth to him who feels how much he has to sacrifice
if he would yield an import to the semblance of reality. —

What comforts me amid the many plagues that Art
imposes on me, is that it can appear to you in cheerful
light. You have and dote on paintings, reading, studying,
hearing ; and of it all you hold alone to what seems nobly
worth to you, untouched by what you suitably may leave
unheeded. All your accounts, even the latest of this winter,
agree herein — that on you the blessing is bestowed of placid
calm enjoyment. The deeper sense of that enjoyment will
have been revealed to you by now ; haply for you it is the
same as my activity, perchance my want, for me. — Yet
I often entertain the thought that I myself were capable of
such enjoyment, and nothing but my mission held me back.
Of course, when I reflect on what I'm able to endure, I
can but wonder at myself, and deem that oft so ardent wish
for quiet and secluded rest entirely unjustified ; and yet a
certain inner peace is my constant companion, — the peace

262 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

of deepest and completest resignation. An altogether
uninvidious, but all the surer incredulity has won possession
of me : I hope for absolutely nothing more, and in particular
—despite occasional airings of my sometimes most com-
municative temperament — the whole of my relations to such
as come in contact with me are so extremely flimsily based
that it would be impossible for any shock to damage them ;
if an individual has approached me somewhat ^lose to-day,
and I lose sight of him for months — or quarters, or half-
years — that doesn't make a grain of difference in our mutual
relations. I am never unsociable, but unspeakably indifferent ;
habituation nowhere gets a hold of me.

You ask about my female company? I have made a
few acquaintances, but not so much as made myself at home
with one.

Mad. Ollivier [Liszt's eider daughter] is highly gifted, even
dazzling of nature, ... Tm thinking, how it is that we so
seldom see each other. ... It is much the same with all the
rest of my acquaintances : the odds are so against my profiting
by any better-cultivated intercourse, that I willingly resign
on every hand, and just accept whatever whim or hazard
brings into the house. Among others . . . there is a Frln
von Meysenbug * who is staying here as governess to Russian
children. . . . When brought to see me, she had this in her
favour, that once in London, years ago ... I had treated
her very badly in a fit of ill-humour; the recollection
touched me, and now . . . she finds herself more at her
ease iYi my company . . .

♦ See Wagner's letters to her, included in the volume of Letters to
Otto Wesendonck et al,^ where will also be found her interesting account,
as eye-witness, of the Tannhduser disaster. — It should be remarked that
the dots in the above are faithfully reproduced from the German edition,
notwithstanding the difficulty of fitting some of them in without afifecting
the sense ; obviously they represent allusions to third parties, with whom
(apart from Minna) we are in no way concerned. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 263

As for the so-called higher world, a lady whom I knew
quite superficially in earlier days [1853] has drawn greater
attention from me this time, than before ; it is Countess
Kalergis, niece of the Russian chancellor Nesselrode. Surely
I have told you of her once already, . . . She was in Paris
some time last summer, hunted me up, and induced me to
get Klindworth over from London to make music with her.
Entirely among ourselves, except for Berlioz, I sang the
second act of Tristan with Mme Garcia- Viardot ; we also
did some music from the Nibelungen : it was the very first
time since I left you. — What made me more attentive to
this lady, was the observation of a singular weariness, a
disdain and loathing of the world, that might have seemed
indifferent, had I not quite plainly noticed with it all her
profound longing for music and poesy, which appeared to
me of moment in such circumstances ; and as her talent
was considerable in that direction, at last she did not leave
me without interest. Moreover, she was the first person I
have met who surprised me — quite spontaneously — by a
truly magnificent grasp of my situation . . . [cf. p. 234].

Frau V. Pourtal^s, wife of the Prussian ambassador, seems
to be not without depth, and at least to have distinguished
taste. —

Quite a racy nature is that I have detected in the wife
of the Saxon ambassador, Frau v.Seebach . . . I was surprised
by a certain gentle glow that gleams beneath the lava here : she
could not understand how anyone could overlook the intense
warmth of my conceptions, and thought it questionable to
take her own young daughter with her to the Tannhauser.
Such curious acquaintances one makes, you see, but they're
nothing more — than acquaintances ! . . .

Ah ! child — let us drop all that ! And believe me, one
drags along one's way just so, with toil, with toil, — scarcely
caring to render account to oneself of how one does it. All

264 WAGNER TO MATHBLDE kWESENDONCK

wishing is in vain : toiling and moiling is the only method
to forget one's misery.

Your decision not to come to the Tannhauser, my child,
had much depressed me — as you surely will be able to
conceive — simply because it robbed me of the pleasure of
seeing you so soon again. I was bound to endorse all the
reasons combining to influence you, as valid for your inner
self, since I have always done wisest when I took the pains
to understand you, and enriched, ay, often-times corrected,
my own feeling by adopting yours. I was sad — and said
nothing. — But Otto lately wrote me that, after all, you meant
to come with him for the event. Look you ! that gave me
such a grievous inner joy ; for I knew you had done yourself
injustice, and that made me so [un]happy that I hardly dared
to hope for a fulfilment of the promise. — And now Otto
has just written me again, that — you would 7iot accompany
him. Once more it troubles me unspeakably, as you may
well imagine! —

Now listen to a quiet word from a friend who again has
just battled through much : —

This first Tannhauser-time will hang a load about my
neck ; [ do not think it a propitious season for the silent need
of our two souls. Much that is needless will not be avoid-
able,* whilst everything will take an outward and unedifying
turn. Accordingly I needs must hold it better to accept your
meaning, and await a more equable season to present you
for the first time with an entire work of mine so carefully
prepared in execution as here is the case with this Tann-
hauser : then, and in calmer mood, the performance itself
both must and will have much to offer you, and we shall
taste it tranquilly. —

* Undoubtedly, a very painful encounter with Minna. — In the upper
paragraph an " un " must surely have been dropped by the German
printer. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 265

Yet if I admit you all that, ought I to conceal from you
that every point in it vanishes before the bare thought of
seeing you again — were it only for an hour ? — No, my child,
it shall not be concealed from you ; and were you still to
come at risk of having little sight of me and my true self^
I still — the egoist I ! — should count the hour thrice- blest in
which I once again could gaze into your eyes ! — But, enough !
You know it all better than I ! —

For the nonce I have a little rest, to wit, not those daily
rehearsals ; but the last second of my working-time is always
claimed by countless extras. The rehearsals go ahead with
unexampled application, at times beyond my comprehension^
and at any rate we are in for a performance quite out of the
common. Niemann is right-down sublime ; he's an artist
of the very rarest water. The succeeding of the other parts
will be rather an outcome of artifice ; yet I hope that by ex-
treme attention we shall succeed in covering up the strings. —

And now, a thousand greetings from my heart ! Thank
Otto most sincerely for his firm allegiance : whatever he
may meet with here, I know he'll bear it, and surely carry
back a strong impression with him.

Adieu, Lady-friend !

The first performance still stands fixed for Friday 22 ;
yet Otto should be prepared to wait for it till Monday 25.

[The three notorious nights at tJie Grand Opera, when
Tannhduser fell victim to the Jockey Club's deliberate plot,
occurred between this letter and the next. As the first perform-
ance did not take place till March 13 {second 18, third 24), //
is to be presumed that Otto arrived too early for anything but
the dress rehearsals, and had to leave before tlie actual dibdcle.
— Tr,]

266 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

115.

Paris, April 6, 6i.

Best Child, I think you did me an injustice when you
shewed yourself a little sensitive at my having merely
forwarded for you to read, the other day, a not insignificant
letter that had reached me, without accompanying it by
a single word of my own. Has silence lost its meaning to
you, and could you possibly imagine that in such a case
I really had nothing to say ? Nay, that would not be right
interpretation. —

To tell the truth, I'm tired of eternally giving my friends
concern ; from the whole objectionable Paris adventure I
have no other residue than this bitter feeling. The disaster
itself left me fairly indifferent, at bottom. Had I made for
mere outward success, I should naturally have had to tackle
many things another way ; but that's — ^just what I can't.
In my mind that success could only count as a result of
the thing's inner succeeding : the chance of a truly fine
performance of no matter which of my works had tempted
me ; so soon as I was forced to abandon that, I was already
done for and defeated. What actually occurred to me, was
the appropriate punishment for my giving way to another
illusion ; it affected me no deeper. The representation of
my work was so foreign to me, that its reception didn't
really matter, and I could look on at it all as a spectacle.
Whether the incident may have consequences or not, is a
point that still leaves me cold : all that I feel in its regard
is — lassitude, disgust. —

Indeed the only thing that stung me, was the quick
recovery of consciousness that from such incalculably mad
odds, as those of a Parisian success of one of my most
intimate works, my whole lot in life must so onerously
depend withal. This is so cruel and insane [a fate] that
for a while it really seemed to me the most sensible course,

PARIS LETTERS 267

to renounce, and radically, an existence so utterly awry and
undisposable !

I am wearying my friends past all conscience, and
"dragging loads along with me that I really cannot bear much
longer. — Good Biilow, who felt my pain most deeply, has
been probing German soil to find a somewhat reassuring
outlook for me. I have — little trust, and suppose that in
the search for rest I must gradually wear myself down till
I find the last rest Yet I have duties that keep me still
erect ; Care lends me life anew. —

Nothing further can I tell the child about myself; but
I reserve a broad smile for the very next time, that — deceived
by falsely judged appearances — one thinks one may con-
gratulate me prematurely, — as happened to me not so long
ago.—

Whither, my child, has flown the comfort of those
Calderon evenings ? What evil star was it, that robbed me
of my only worthy haven ? — Believe me, whatever you may
hear that sounds unlike it, — when I left that Asyl my star
was doomed to its descent ; I can but fall and fall ! —

Never — never let a contrary belief arise in you ! Hold
fast to that alone ! I do not murmur, I complain of
nothing : — it had to be ; but, if you would remain just to
me, — never forget it yourself! — This I still have wished to
say to you : oh, stamp it deep upon your mind ! —

And now give Otto my best greetings. His presence
in that evil time afflicted, rather than rejoiced me, albeit I
protest from my whole heart that his care and sympathy,
his entire being, profoundly moved me. Personally, however,
I could be so absolutely nothing to him ; it was one perpetual
racket, and the real miscarriage of my undertaking so exactly
coincided with the period he was here. I suffered most
at those rehearsals, during which my work grew more and
more unrecognisable and alien to me. The performances, on

268 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

the contrary, had the mere effect of purely physical blows^
that simply woke me from my soul's distress to consciousness
of — my outward misery; the blows themselves I felt but
superficially. —

Tell Otto also that there will shortly be a report by
myself to read, presumably in the Leipzig lUustrirte, on the
whole Paris Tannhauser affair ; * I had promised a relative
something of the kind. —

Fare you well. Lady-friend !
In a few days I must go to Carlsruhe for quite a brief
stay, then speedily return, as I still have far too many things
to settle here. —

With a thousand greetings !

R. W.

[Bulow's diplomacy Jiad been at work^ sounding the Grand
Duke of Baden as to Wagner's'^ outlook'^ — seep. 267. Wagner
goes to CarlsruJUy obtains a promise that Tristan shall be given in
September, and returns to Paris by April 24 / wfience lu starts
for Vienna May 7 or 8 — in search of special singers, and in
response to an announcement of " Lohengrin^' — arriving there
May 9. — 7>.]

116.

Vienna, May 11, 6r.

I have just attended the rehearsal of my Lohengrin ! I
cannot lock away the incredibly moving effect of this first
hearing, amid the fairest and most affectionate circumstances,
artistic and human, without imparting it at once to you.
Twelve years of my life — what years ! — have I passed
through ! ! You were right, when you so often wished me

* Dated *' Paris, 27th March 1861," it appeared in Brockhaus' Deutsche
Allgemeine Zeitung the day after this letter was written ; see Prose
Works III. 347-360.— Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 269

this delight; but nowhere could it have been offered me
-SO completely as here ! Ah, were^^« two here to-morrow ! !

A thousand sincerest wishes !

R. W.

117.

Paris, May 27, 6r.

Just arrived back here [26th] I find the Child's dear letter
forwarded after me from Vienna, which was to have delighted
me there on my birthday. The effect of these lines has
been indescribably beautiful, now that Wiedersehen lay
between : * a dream had become reality, to melt once more
to dreamlike memory !

So there still are means of heartiest invigoration and
-encouragement ! They are ours, and ever do we win them
afresh, because our consciences are pure and free. For sure,
we shall hail each other oft again, and every Wiedersehen will
weave a lovelier, nobler bloom into the garland of our life !

A thousand faithful greetings from the lately sped ! —

At Carlsruhe I had a very pleasant time with the
Grand Duke ; his delight was great when I informed him
of my firm resolve to give preference to a settlement there,
over any other in Germany. Whatever he can do towards
assisting me to a suitable abode," he will with alacrity. —

I find Liszt still here,t and shall have a longer sight

* Having left Vienna on the 20th or 21st, he clearly paid the Green
Hill a flying visit for one night en route for Carlsruhe; the nearness
of the latter city to Zurich perhaps had much to do, not only with
the " resolve ** recorded a few lines lower, but also with the domestic
' catastrophe ' vaguely suggested in the next two letters. — Tr

t Liszt writes a friend in the second half of May, *' Wagner will be
back in 4 or 5 days. — He left a few lines for me ere starting — tlie same
day as I arrived here " (i.e. the 7th or 8th). The '* bdsen, schwierigen
Periode " of the next sentence in the above must chiefly refer to the
iserious financial embarrassment in which Wagner had been plunged by
deprivation of any returns from the Paris Tannhduser, — Tr.

2 70 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

of him this evening at my rooms . . . — For the rest, my
child, I now am face to face with a bad, a difficult period ;
by the beginning of July, when I should re-cross the Rhine
in that event, may I have everything well behind me :
that's what you must wish me! Meanwhile little Tausig
who started from Vienna after me, and punctually caught
me up at Carlsruhe — helps me now and then to a playful
smile. I look upon him as partly a gift from yourself ! —

And many thanks for the pretty presents which I found
on retiring to rest and egoistically packed up at once.*
The wreath I left for you ; I know you will make fine use
of it!

My heartiest greetings to Otto and the children ! Thanks
and love to yourself!

Your
R. W.

118.

Paris, June i S,

1 86 1.

What a time it is since I wrote the most excellent
Child, — and yet there were a lot of thanks to be said for
the dear last letter I —

Tm living dreary, soul-less days away, have zest for nothing
in the world, neither for work of any kind, nor for anything
else ; scarcely can I drive myself to write the most in-
cumbent letter ! Perhaps I might describe my state as a
preservation of patience: complete uncertainty — is all that
I can distantly convey! —

I go out little now : disgust with everything is great —
I am simply trying to kill time, and read Gothe just as it

* Presumably at the villa on the Green Hill, with a departure early
next morning before his hosts had risen. The wreath would be an
operatic trophy from Vienna, — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 271

comes; of late, the campaign of 1792. 'Tis a total lethargy,,
and the fish on dry sand is quite an apt emblem of me.

Liszt and Tausig left a week ago ; I was glad to be rid
of them— in my present state ! No matter who, is not the
right one, and naught avails me. How strange must Liszt's
occurrence in my life appear to me ! I met him first just
20 years ago in Paris, at a time when — in the most, precarious
outward plight — I had already conceived a great loathing of the
world in which he dangled glitteringly and dazzlingly before
me ; and now, when I have to repent my driving by my
fate for once towards that world again, when I am renewing
the experience of my youth so thoroughly, and nothing,,
no pretence, no mirage, can move me any more to lift a
finger up to it, — now Liszt must once again be basking
in the sun there, under my very eyes ! . . .* No one knows
better than himself what it is, that is to be attained there ;
wherefore it will be judging him more correctly if I assume
that, as his object stays denied him too, he likes to intoxicate
himself now and then with a semblance ... I couldn't
accompany him any-whither, and so saw little of him ; but
IVe promised to visit him for a week or two at Weimar,
where he intends bringing out some big symphonic works. —

Ah ! my child, if I had not you, my look-out would
be bad ! Hold firm to that belief, and faithfully ! — And
let that cover all that I could say ! —

But a life I have no longer. Perhaps I shall somewhat
pluck up heart again — particularly for work — when I have
got away from here ; if only that can be effected soon ! —

The solitary thing to rouse me is the Tristan scheme.
Do think it over, how you can get Papa to pass the
autumn and a portion of the winter in Vienna this time ;
Tm sure it would do you good as well ! I would let you
both look after me, as long as I remained there ; for I

* Again the dots are reproduced from the German edition.— Tr.

272 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

am going away alone,* and shall put up meantime at
Kolatschek's. Then you could listen quietly for once to
all I shall have brought to a hearing, Tristan, Lohengrin,
Hollander and Tannhauser — : it really ought to make your
winter quite a homelike one again. —

Well, we'll have another debate about that. — And now
my best and heartiest wishes ! And all that's good and
kind to Otto, the children, and the whole Green Hill,

from Your

Grey
R. W.

119.

Paris

78 Rue de Lille. Legation de Prusse.

July 12, 61.
My Child, I am writing you from the hdtel of the Prussian
embassy, where I have found sanctuary for the few weeks
I still must keep to Paris. In front of me I have a garden
with fine tall trees and a basin with two black swans,t
over the garden the Seine, and over the Seine the garden
of the Tuileries ; so that I can breathe again a little, and at
least am in ordinary Paris no longer.

* The virtual separation from Minna (it never became a formal one)
was evidently a settled thing by now, and two days before the next
in this series of letters, ** After we had lived through four more ghastly
days in the [dismantled] rooms, she set off comfortably [for Soden baths]
together with the parrot" (to Malwida von Meysenbug, July *6i). — The
Kolatschek of the sentence's end perhaps was Dr. Adolf, who also had
been a refugee in Switzerland, and in whose short-lived Deutsche
Afonaischrift portions of Opera and Drama had appeared in 1851 before
the book itself was issued ; but we hear no more of him. — ^Tr.

t See the beautiful Albumblatt '* Ankunft bei den schwarzen Schwfinen/'
dedicated to his present hostess, and instinct with all the touching
melancholy of the moment. What detained him in Paris till nearly the
end of the month, was the supervision of a translation (Nuitter) for the
French vocal score of his Holl&nder, — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 273

My household goods have been packed again, and sent
to the dep6t here : where they will get unpacked, some day,
God knows ; in all probability I shall never see them more. I
am wanting my wife to settle down in Dresden, and take
them to herself there ; for my part, I can think of no more
settling down. This the upshot of a last, hard, infinitely
miserable experience ! 'Tis not appointed me, to cultivate
my muse in the lap of a cosy home ; each attempt to defy
all the frowns of my fate, and indulge a longing so innate
in me, is more emphatically frustrated every time, from
within and from without ; the daemon of my life throws,
every cunning semblance to the dust. Tis not appointed
me, and every sought-for rest becomes the source of most
acute disquietudes.

So I shall vow the remnant of my life to roving. Perhaps,
it will be granted me to rest my limbs from time to time
beside some shady well, and here or there refresh myself:
the only benefaction still to grant me ! —

To Carlsruhe I am not going ! !

From this indication of results you may infer the latest
happenings in my life, both inner and outer. —

At the last there even died the little dog that you
once sent me from your sickbed ; mysteriously suddenly !
It is presumed that a cart-wheel had struck him in
the street, injuring one of the little pet's internal organs.
After 5 hours passed without a moan, quite gently and
affectionately, but with progressive weakness, he silently
expired [June 23]. Not a foot of ground was at my dis-
posal, to bury the tiny friend in; so I sneaked and forced
my way into Stiirmer's little back-garden, where I buried
him myself by stealth beneath a bush. — With that little dog
I buried much I — So I intend to wander now, and on my
wanderings J shall have companion no more. —

That tells you everything ! —

274 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

I shall be able to send you a carte-de-visite presently:
Liszt, who sat to every photographer in the place, compelled
me to a sitting also.* I have not been to fetch the cards
yet, but will do so by and by. —

Keep well and cheerful ! Many hearty wishes to Otto
and the children ! All my love to yourself! —

R. W.

120.

Paris, July 25, 6i.

I meant to come to you for two days, before my journey
to Vienna ; now Liszt has knocked that on the head. On
the 5th and 6th of August he is giving big music of his
own at Weimar (Faust etc.), and had arranged for me to
pay him a brief visit ; then I learnt that he was expecting
friends from far and wide, a crowd I did not want to mix
in, and sent him word I shouldn't come ; but as that appears
to touch him to the quick, I shall have to go, unless I wish
to wound him seriously.

That frets me, since it makes my Zurich plan impractic-
able, but I've been thinking whether you perhaps could come
instead to Weimar for the 5th and 6th of August ; which
really would be very interesting to you both, were it only
as pretext for staying away from St Gallen. Do you think
that Otto could be brought to see it? — If not, I shall rely
all the firmer on you both for Vienna ; where you would

* See the request in her letter of June 24 (p. 345 iVi/C).— Hereafter I
shall have a word to say on the ominous coincidence, that not one of
Mathilde's letters of earlier date than poor Fips's death has descended to
us, though Wagner had had a portfolio "expressly made to lock away
thy keepsakes and letters " (p. 34). Here I merely refer the reader to
p. 278, 1. 18, my note on p. 283, and Wagner's letter to Otto of June 25,
where that death had been already termed ** almost inexplicable," and
«• the manner of it, everything — has much afflicted me . . . particularly in
present circumstances."— Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 275

have to arrive by the end of September at latest, and stay
as long as you possibly can. —

I do not write you, for fear of distressing you ; but I
think, if anything, too much of you ! — The sense of strange-
ness in this world is growing on me ever stronger. In truth,
1 know not why I should endure this parody of life.

God knows whether the Tristan will revive me ; if I dip
into the score by accident, sometimes I stand aghast at the
thought that I may have to hear it soon. — I am astonished
afresh, how little of one people strictly can know, how utterly
different I am when alone, and when I mix with others ;
often I've to laugh at the phantom which steps before them
then !—

But why continue ? —

How goes it with the health? Are the baths acting
well ? — Strength ! we still need it ! —

I shall start on Monday [29th] ; a quick reply will catch
me here still. Then Weimar till the 6th of August. Then —
Vienna, K.K. Hofoperntheater. — However, Tm sure to write
if I don't see you. —

Be saluted from my deepest heart !

R. W.

121.

Vienna, Aug. 19, 61.

Letter-writing is a funny thing, Lady-friend One sets
apart an hour at last, and vows it to communication ; but
what is such an hour, when plucked from out the midst
of this eternal churn of life, impressions, moods ? For sure,
a letter of the sort tells little, and we couldn't correspond
at all with those we love, were that churning not to be
assumed as known to them through sympathy.

I had to agree with your Weimar letter at once, when
I saw that your visit might have interfered with Vienna.

276 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Grant Heaven the sacrifice's recompense be not withheld us !
Amen !

At Weimar there naturally was no question of peace
and enjoyment. From far and near they trooped around,
to see me once again — or see me ; literally, I had to relate
my whole life's history to some fresh person each half-hour.
Despair at last inspired me with my old mad pranks, and
everybody was delighted with my jocularity ; but I dared
not turn serious, since I can no longer be so without almost
dissolving into tears. Tis a long-standing fault of vay
temperament, and now is taking more and more the upper
hand : I fight against it, tho', as much as I can, for fear
of some day weeping myself all away.

A feeling is growing upon me, that I have pretty well
got to the end of life's journey : there has long been no
question of goal, but the pretext also, maybe even the excuse,
will fail me soon. Don't misunderstand me, if I confess
with mildest candour that it is ever growing harder to me,
to hold anything worth serious consideration : nothing grips
me any more, and all belief is lacking; there's only one
way left to bring me round, — to weep together with me ! —
That is precisely what good Hans did, and Liszt as well :
the good old Frommann also came and helped ! And really
it did help me, in a sort, to bear the other people's praises
of my courage, their talk of fame and glory. — So I departed
from Weimar in quite an amicable mood, and above all,
I took away a very charming memory of Liszt ; who is
also leaving Weimar — ^where he has been able to plant just
nothing — to fare at first into the vague. His Faust really
gave me great joy, and its second part (Gretchen) made an
unforgetably deep impression on me. What filled me with
great melancholy, was that all this could only be performed
with quite unusual mediocrity: everything had to be seen
to in one rehearsal, and Hans, who conducted, did wonders

PARIS LETTERS 277

to make the execution even tolerable. So, this has been
the goal of all the sacrifices of our lucky Liszt, too — that he
could not wring from this wretched world so much as the
bare material for a good performance of his work ! How
profoundly that reflection confirmed me in my resignation !
And I had to learn much besides, on this occasion, that shed
a final light upon my own position in the world. I learnt
exactly how it stands with all the princes from whom I have
felt driven to expect a little, more or less, for some time past ;
now I know that even the best of them, with the best of
will, is impotent to do anything for me. That honestly was
good for me, and not a grimace could I pull at it ; but I
have a feeling that it must soon be over now, and — in sober
truth !— Fm glad of it !

Well, Tve been in Vienna several days [since the 14th]. A
good-natured enthusiast. Dr. Standthardtner, has lent me
his home for a few weeks, while the family is away ; after
that I shall have to fend for myself, or perhaps find someone
else who'll put me up ! Unfortunately my tenor, Ander,
is still out of voice, and the study of Tristan is delayed
thereby ; but as I have nothing else in view, and should
harm the undertaking if I left Vienna, I am awaiting what-
ever the stars shall decide about this final scheme of mine,
which, like the last flutter of the veil of Maya, still chains
me to this life. The people here are good to me ; but none
of them actually knows the danger into which I am dragging
them with my Tristan, and perhaps it all will still become
impossible as soon as they find out Isolde alone [Frau
Mayer-Dustmann] — a little of whose part I lately went
through with her — has an inkling of what is at stake. How
horrified they will be, one fine day, when I blurt out that
they all must go to ground with me ! —

Down to now I can testify that I have never duped
anyone wilfully. When the management inquired my terms,

278 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

it was impossible for me to ask or stipulate for money ;
the only thing I bargained for, was that my singers and
the orchestra should be most studiously saved for me a
whole month before the projected first performance. That
gives me the requisite composure ; for I am drawing near
my last goal now, and know that I can do something toward
reaching it only by waiving every kind of obligation. —

So come, my child, and the sooner the better! I'm a
dreadful egoist to urge you to it, and unless Otto is very
fond of me, he has cause enough not to fall in with my
petition * But this is a last word : the course and meaning
of the world are dead against me ; I can stamp my last
clear imprint on it only if I do not give the smallest thought
to sparing of myself. For your comfort I may say, how-
ever, that I am in surprisingly good health ; my appearance
is capital, so everybody tells me, and my patience has
steeled itself quite cheeringly. Merely, I'm excessively soft ;
for instance, human beings' treatment of dumb animals makes
me grieve more than ever. Also I am clearer-sighted than
of yore, and getting to make less and less use of Illusion.
So venture it, my child !

I'll write you another time about my journey with
Olliviers [from Weimar] vi& Munich and Reichenhall (near
Salzburg). A thousand good wishes! Every kind thing
to Otto and the children ! Adieu, dear Child !

R. W.
(Seilerstatte 806,

3rd floor, Vienna.)

* Last June 25 V^'agner had written Otto, " I know the great cares
to which you are exposed at present," and three weeks previously, to
another person, " I am entirely bereft of means . . a best-proved friend,
upon whom in such circumstances I might have counted for certain, is
completely paralysed just now by the American crisis — owing to the
character of his business" (see Glasenapp's Das Leben /?. W's II. ii,
328).~Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 279

122.

Vienna, Sept. 13, 61.

I have really had three lovely hours ; so Lady-friend
shall hear about them : —

The other day I was driven to the country-seat of a
Hungarian family, Graf Ndho [Nako], which boasts of having
been the first and red-hottest devotee of my music in
Vienna. An amiable young man — Prince Rudolph Liechten-
stein, who picked up his equally estimable and very gentle
wife en route — conducted me to the foot of the chain of
hills where Schwarzau lies. A wonderful site : were the
plain filled up with water, it might easily pass for a Swiss
lake. The equipment of the castle, of extraordinary taste,
betrayed the rarest sense of fantasy in choice, arrangement
and invention. The countess, a lady verging on the end of
her thirties, with large, surprisingly intellectual black eyes,
is celebrated for her singular natural talent in music ; she
maintains a private orchestra of Gipsies, in whose midst
she sits down to the piano and they improvise the most
marvellous stuff for hours together. I feared I might find
her stuck-up, perhaps affected : her mien soon rea.ssured me.
The seriousness of her sense of beauty was still better taught
me by some astonishingly well-executed copies of the
finest Vandyck portrciits, as to which she remarked that
they had cost her much trouble since she unfortunately
had had no regular instruction in painting either ; anything
like her studio I have never seen. At lunch we touched
on books ; she was reading Tschudi's " Fauna of the Alps "
at present Then in came a magnificent light buckhound,
followed by a spendid raven-black Newfoundland of gigantic
size ; both were indescribably delighted by their mistress's
caresses. We fell discussing the bearings of the animal
world to man ; I propounded my pet theme, and found a
most sympathetic audience, even to the full height of my

28o WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

articles of faith. The Gipsy band was in Hungary at the
moment, so the countess tried to give us an idea of the
way she improvised with them, alone at the piano, and
very original and fascinating it was. Soon she dropped in
motives from Lohengrin, and that ended in its being my
turn to go to the piano. I was gratified by the beautiful
hush with which it was all received. Only the Graf, a
fine tall thoroughbred Hungarian, thought needful to keep
telling me about my works* impression ; I bore it with much
patience, however, as the scraps of conversation he had
heard about me were related with an inexpressible good-
nature. Young Liechtenstein I found a prey to touching
melancholy : he had entered the diplomatic {politischeti) career
after having chosen naval service in first youth, but was
growing more and more aware how little he was made for
politics. — The day passed in just enough walking and driving
to induce an agreeable fatigue. Next morning I had to
be called very early, as I had a rendezvous with my singer
Ander at Modling, which lies on the road from Schwarzau
to Vienna. Everybody assembled again for breakfast on
the terrace in the freshest morning air, and with two other
Hungarian magnates — Zichy and Almasy, who incessantly
spoke of their horse-breeding — I began my journey back,
as far as Modling; where I was set down at 8 o'clock, in
glorious weather. It was still too early to make a call on
Ander ; moreover I was tired of so much talking, and finally
of hearing others talk; so I determined to belong all to
myself for a while first. I took a chaise and drove into

the lovely ravine of the Briihl [the Liechtensteins' property].

There stands a place of entertainment, deserted at that
hour of day. Behind the house lies a garden with an out-
look on lush fields and hanging woods, magnificently
lighted by the early sun. There I sat down, and passed
—alone, in silence — that first fair hour whereof I wished

PARIS LETTERS 28 1

to tell you. I left the spot profoundly comforted, beatified,
at peace !

The second fair hour was that when Lady-friend expressed
to me the very thoughts which I had felt in that first hour.
That Ulrich v. Hutten was guiding her pen, but made her
prophecy the more significant The whole full soul of my
existence stepped to me, interpreted that hour's silence, and
the angel breathed its kiss of blessing on my brow. — That
was the second fair hour.

And what of the third ? —

It was an unawaitedly fine success. The Flying Dutchman
(the only opera of mine that can be given during Ander's
continued indisposition) was set down for yesterday. I had
heard this opera again a little while ago, when it left me
very discontented, annoying me in particular by some very
grave misunderstandings in the interpretation and the musical
tempo, as also by a good many crudities in the rendering
of the female chorus. So I had the two principal singers,
the chorus, and the Kapellmeister called together yesterday
morning for a little talk. It chiefly concerned the big scene
between the Hollander and Senta, to whom I briefly but
definitely explained the needful ; they seemed to be struck
at having missed such obvious points. Chorus and Kapell-
meister were similarly instructed. — As the representation
had become a matter of routine already, and it was impossible
to call the band together too, it would have been easy for these
renovations to throw the whole thing out: the greater was
my joy at the performance. A new spirit had entered into all.
The Kapellmeister himself was astonished at the precision
with which the amendments were executed ; my two singers
were positively sublime in those particular places, but from
beginning to end it all was seizing, ay, overwhelming to myself !
I can't help saying it : 1 have experienced many a beauteous
thing, and yet must call last night my third fair hour ! —

282 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Let that be enough for to-day ! The happiness of those
three hours ought not to be alloyed ; and therefore — nothing
more from me to-day ! Out of mist and grey I stretch my
hand to thee and cry : This has been possible. — Courage,
then, courage ! The fairest hour is still to come ! —

R. VV.

123.

Vienna, Sept. 28, 61.

Kaiserin Elisabeth

Weihburg Gasse.

O my noble glorious child ! —

Almost I ought to write down nothing else to-day, than
that ejaculation, for all that I could add thereto is immaterial I
Music is turning the whole of me into an exclamatory being,
and the sign thereof, at bottom, is the only punctuation
to suffice me, when once I leave my tones ! 'Tis the old
enthusiasm, too, apart from which I can't subsist ; and
sufferings, troubles, ay, peevishness, ill-temper, all take
on this fanatical tinge with me, — which surely also is the
reason why I give so much distress to others ! —

See ! What can they not bring to pass in Zurich ? One
might ransack Vienna, Paris and London, to find aught in
photography to touch what your Herr Keller has achieved !*
Ah, child, how beautiful you are ! No words can breathe
it ! ! By God ! this heart is fit to be a dwelling-place for
kings : the poorest beggar who resides therein must feel
his head upsoaring to the clouds ! — And the birth-pangs
of the highest birth are written also on these cheeks that

* In all probability this is the carte-de-visite facsimiled in Heir
Steiner's " Neujahrsblatt " for the Zurich AUg. Musik-Gesellschaft 1903.
The portrait — a good deal handsomer and more *' queenly *' than that
of the oil-painting — has been deemed too small for reproduction in
the present book, but perhaps may eventually be used elsewhere. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 285

once had smiled so child-like ! — Eh ! God, too, dwells within

the child ! — Ye there, obeisance deep ! !

Do you think to-day a little late, to bring my thanks?
— But it is only to-day, that I can get at last to anything. I'm
just resurging from all sorts of worries, of which the queenly
dame must hear the leastest little. Moreover, I have moved
again! An acquaintance who had placed his home at my
disposal hitherto^since he was away with all his family —
is coming back immediately ; and as the luck never falls
to unlucky me, to light on decent hospitality (I must except
the kind Prussian ambassador in Paris), nothing remained
but to tuck myself into an inn again. So I am quartering
here for some months, and here have I at last unpacked
my little flying — Dutchman's — chattels ; among which the
big green portfolio has also come to light once more. I
had kept it locked up since Lucerne; so I hunted out the
key, to take a good look at my treasure again. Heavens^
my feelings ! Two photographs, the birthplaces of Tristan :
the Green Hill with the Asyl, and the Venetian palace.
And then the birth-leaves with first sketches, curious embryos ;
the dedicatory verses, too, wherewith I sent the finished
pencil-sketches of the first act to the child : how I rejoiced
in these verses, they're so pure and true ! The pencilling
of the song — I found that too — whence sprang the Night-
scene : God knows, this song [Trdume] has pleased me better
than the whole proud scene! Heavens, it's finer than all
I hav9 made! It thrills me to my deepest nerve, to hear
it ! — And to carry such an omnipresent after-feeling in one's
heart, without one's being overjoyed ! ! How were that
possible ? — I locked the portfolio nice and fast again ; * but

* In pursuance of my note to page 274, it should be remarked that
not a word is said here of Mathilde's early letters, diary, etc. ; whereas there
is apparent purpose in that " kept locked up since Lucerne," seeing that
the photograph of the Green Hill did not arrive till the prae-Minna

284 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

the latest letter with the h'keness, I opened that once more : —
and out came my ejaculation ! ! Forgive, forgive me ! —
rU exclaim no more! —

And least of all should I do it now, when I'm addressing
my lines to you at Diisseldorf, whither you have gone to
tend a poor sick mother ! — How deeply the thought distresses
me, that I can be of no comfort whatever to her ! I have
to thank her for something so ineffable — and perhaps my
very name must not be spoken in the patient's presence !
This I fear in all modesty, as you may well believe ! 1 But
on the day when you see her just after my letter, do tell
her that you wish her patience, convalescence and recovery,
from a doubled heart ! —

Now Tm to look forward to the 20th of October, am I
not? — I am thinking of all the fine things which I mean
to prepare for the pair of you here: the Hollander and
Lohengrin you shall hear at once and frequently, and even
of the Tristan there is hope now. My singer's in possession
of his voice again, full of hope and zeal ; so the study is
at last to commence in real earnest

Now, my blessing on you, dear ones !

Many kind wishes to Otto and the children — who are
with you, I presume. All that is noble and eternal to the
Queen !

R. W.

\Here a letter is obviously missing ; see Frau Mathildas of
October 23. About a fortnight after receipt of the last-named
Wagner paid the Wesendoncks the brief Venice visit recorded

Paris period — cf. pp. 177 and 184. This "big green portfolio," which
^' she sent me once to Venice '* (p. 307), must not be confounded with that
•other locked portfolio he bought for himself at Geneva (p. 34), the fate
whereof is so dark a riddle. — For the references to the Tristan sketches
«tc., see pages 16-17, 58, 80, 307, and 311. — Tr,

PARIS LETTERS 285

below ^ then returned to Vienna Nov. 13, only to find it
useless to wait any longer for the " return of a tenor voice
into the throat ^^ of his sole available Tristan, — Zr.]

124.

Paris, 19 Quai Voltaire,

Dec. 21, 1861.

Were you by any chance thinking I should not con-
gratulate you on your birthday ? But there, you knew my
Christmas-eve is antedated by a day ! —

Prosperity and happiness, with all my heart ! —

I have cast myself into the arms of my old beloved : —
Work has me once more, and to her I cry : " gieb Vergessen,
dass ich lebe ! " [Tr. «. Is, ii.]

I left Vienna three weeks since, direct for Paris. Nobody
wanted me ; I can't produce the Tristan ere a twelvemonth
— a twelvemonth how and where? I have had no happy
time of it. Metternich's invitation alone kept faith, but in
consequence of the mother-in-law's sudden death an un-
expected relative had come to Paris and seized the apartment
meant for me; I can't move in before the beginning of
January. I couldn't stop in Vienna ; nowhere else was I
welcome ; so I started for Paris right at the beginning
of December, and am making shift till January with a small
room on the Quai Voltaire. I have got so far, however, as
to look forward to the imminent blessing of reception into
a well-regulated household with good attendance, and without
any outlay needed for nice sustenance. I'm sure you will
be glad of that ! —

Here I am taking the greatest of pains to deny myself;
if it doesn't succeed altogether, I make the pretence, to
myself at least, as if people weren't aware of my presence :
for three days in succession, now, I've contrived to be obliged
to speak to no one (that horrible speaking !). At the

286 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

restaurant I saw Royer, director of the Grand Op^ra, but
pretended not to notice him ; very soon afterwards I saw
him again, and meantime had read the announcement-of-issue
of a translation by him of some lost stage-pieces by Cer-
vantes : of a sudden the man interested me. It was droll
to find myself accosting him, talking with him for fully
half an hour, and so completely ignoring the opera-director
that our only topic was Cervantes. He sent me his book
next day. The poet's preface moved me beyond words :
-what profound resignation ! —

I have often to laugh out loud when I raise my eyes
from my work-bench to the Tuileries and Louvre straight
opposite, for you must know that in reality I am in Niirnberg
now, and mixing with somewhat blunt, three-cornered folk :
there was nothing else for it, but to get among such com-
pany. The journey back from Venice to Vienna was most
lingering ; two whole long nights and a day I sat helplessly
wedged between Erst and No\v, driving home into the grey :
a new labour it must be, or — an ending ! Unfortunately
my visual functions are growing ever duller ; nothing rivets
my gaze, and each locality, with all that appertains thereto —
were it the greatest masterpieces in the world— distracts
me not, remains indifferent to me ; my eye I have for
nothing but distinguishing of day from night, now, light from
gloom [cf. p. 200]. It really is a palsying against and toward
the Outer ; I see no pictures more, save inner ones, and
they clamour for nothing but sound. But no empassioned
vision would consent to lighten me on that grey journey ;
the world itself appeared a toyshop ; and that took me
back to Niirnberg, where I had passed a day last summer
and there are plenty of pretty things to see. At once it
resounded to me as an overture to the Mastersingers of
Nuremberg.

Arrived back at my Vienna inn, I worked the ground-

PARIS LETTERS 287

plan out in curious haste ; it made me feel quite well, to
find how clear my memory had remained, how fluent was
my fancy in invention ! 'Twas a rescue, nothing less ; just
as the advent of insanity may even save one's life ! So I
wound up left and right, thrust the twelvemonth's bolt
on Tristan, politely thanked for invitations to triumphs in
various cities of my exquisite German fatherland, and — finally
arrived just where I am, " zu vergessen, dass ich lebe ! " —

Your own home-coming, across the sainted Gotthardt,
cannot have been precisely pleasant ; yet I was glad that
you were not beside me on the journey to Vienna ! For
once I was so narrow-hearted as to congratulate myself
on having to accuse myself of no complicity in a discomfort
for yourself and husband ; neither did Iphigenie [hu own revised
version of Giuck's] come off punctually on the day supposed [Nov. 16].
On the contrary, it calmed me to think of your reaching the
green hill sooner, where you could gladden yourself with
the children once more.

Your husband's condition grieves me much ; he is a
palpable hypochondriac. It really is to be doubted whether
the seclusion of Zurich is beneficial to him ; for it will have
been remarked that amid the distraction of great cities,
much company and so forth, he thinks far less about
himself, and then is perfectly well. Probably he is not
made for fruitful self-absorption : reading can help him but
little, since he lacks too much of what one must gain in
comparative youth and cannot make up for later ; so he
falls into unprofitable brooding. I believe, dear Lady-friend,
that you ought seriously to contemplate some change in this
direction ; for it is evident, especially to one who has been
away from you some time, that it is a question here of
maladies which have their root far oftener in little, than in
•deep complaints. —

Perhaps you'll smile at my solicitude and my advice ? —

288 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

Ah ! I know it*s not my rightful business. But when one
has arrived at helping oneself the way I now am doings
one becomes quite presumptuous, and tries to take too
much upon oneself, maybe, in seeking to help others also.
At least this presumption, however, is kindly meant ; so
don't be angry with me for it ! —

And now forgive me for my Niirnberg mastersingers !
They'll come by quite a pithy meaning, and quickly make
their tour of all the German theatres, perhaps by the
beginning of next winter, when I shan't trouble my head
much more about them.

The production of the Tristan still remains my eye's
chief mark. That once successfully effected, I have not
much more to do upon this earth, and would gladly lay
myself to sleep beside Master Cervantes. For my having^
written the Tristan I thank you from my deepest soul to-
all eternity! —

Now fare you well ! Reign calmly on, both learn and
teach ! Patience already is yours : and that I now have
learnt myself ! A thousand fine wishes for the birthday !

Your
R. W.

126.

[Paris, end of December 1861.]

My best and heartiest thanks, my Child ! — *
I reply to you with a confession. It will be needless
to speak it plainly out : everything in and about you tells
me that already you know all. And yet I feel impelled
to give you certainty on my side also : —

A t last I am fully resigned ! f

* For her letter of Dec. 25 and the scenario mentioned later. — ^Tr.

t The most delicate of all possible allusions (confirmed by the letter's
close) to an event impending, in the Wesendonck household, for the
middle of next June. — Tr.

PARIS LETTERS 289

One hope I never yet had given up, and believed that
I had earned it hardly : to find my Asyl once again, be able
again to live near you. — One hour of Wiedersehen in Venice
was enough, to shatter that last fond dream !

I had at once to recognise that the freedom which is
needful to you, and to which you must hold fast for your
continuance, you can never maintain so long as I am near
you. Only my remoteness can confer on you the power
to move free after your own will ; only when you have
nothing to purchase, have you no price to concede.

I cannot bear, for price of my proximity, to see you
cramped and put upon, dependent, ruled For I cannot
requite to you that sacrifice, because my presence then can
offer you no more ; and the thought that the poor mite I can
be to you in such conditions is bought with all your liberty,
with human dignity itself, would make me feel that nearness
in itself a torture.

Here soothe avails no longer. — I see, you feel and
know it yourself; and how should you not, the first of all ?
You have known it long, and earlier than I, who^ave
long remained within my secret heart the incorrigible
optimist. —

It was that, that alone, which weighed like lead upon
my soul in Venice, not my plight, nor my other mischances.
Those are indifferent to me in themselves, and have been ever
since I knew you. You would scarce believe the utter
callousness wherewith I cast the die in all these things : in
truth they dp not touch my feeling anywhere, or but in
passing ; and that with mere relation to the lot which really
might be due me, wherein there would be no such thing
for me as failure or success. —

I adhere to it : to me it is a comfort to know you endowed
with tastes, and in a social position, that can confer upon
your pain a soft, idyllic character. For my part, I shall

290 WAGNER TO MATHILDK WESENDONCK

merely strive to square my outward life in such a way, that
unmolested I may obey my creative inner impulse, retained
in all its freshness. I need a settled home for that, above all
else : I shall accept it under whatsoever conditions ; for I
can bear everything, everything now, since nothing weights
me, and Life with all that it involves has no more sense
for me at all Where and how ? — ^is boundlessly indifferent
to me ; I want to work : naught further ! Then for yourself
as well can I be something quite apart : I know it, and you
know it too I The grisly Last is over : Venice, the journey
back and three ensuing weeks — O horrible ! — now lie behind
me ! — So, courage ! go it must ! —

I shall send you oft a morsel from my work. How you
will open your eyes at my Mastersingers ! Keep your heart
secure against Sachs, or youll fall in love with him! It's
an extraordinary work. The old draft afforded little,*
next to nothing. Eh, one must have been in Paradise, to
discover what may lurk in such a thing I —

Of my life you shall hear the merest necessary — the
outermost : inwardly — rest assured of that I — nothing whatever
will occur again, nothing but artistic creation. Consequently
you will be losing just nothing at all, but will gain the only
thing I have of worth — my works. We shall see each other
now and then, though, shall we not ? Void of all wish then :
wherefore also, wholly free! —

So ! A remarkable letter is this ! You can hardly

* Sent to Paris by Mathilde Dec. 25 ; see her letter of that date.
This scenario had been lent or presented to her long before, and must
thereafter have been returned to her; for it is mentioned in her list,
page 366, and was also in her possession till her death. The main body,
all of it that had previously been made public in Germany, will be found
in Ufe ii, 383-5 ; its entirety in the " Bayrcuth number '* of Die Musik
1902.— The allusion to " Paradise," of course, is taken from the "Cobbler-
song " (act ii), which accompanied the present letter ; see facsimile. — Tr.

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6?.
Sachs stands up before the whole assemblage, and is greeted
by the people with a mighty outburst of enthusiasm, whereon
they chant with clarion tongue the first eight lines of Sachs's-
ode to Luther (the music for which is ready). For the
introduction of this 3rd act — the curtain rising upon Sachs
seated in deep thought — I now shall give the bass strings
a soft and mellow, deeply melancholy strain to play, that
bears the character of utmost resignation ; then the solemn-
joyous melody of the " Wacht auf ! Es rufet * gen den Tag ;
ich hor* singen im griinen Hag ein* wonnigliche Nachtigall,'^
sounded by horns and sonorous wind-instruments, will be
added thereto as bright evangel, and developed more and
more by all the band.

It has become clear to me that this work will be ray
most consummate masterpiece, and also — that I shall [live
to] consummate it.

But I wanted to give myself a birthday present ; I'm
doing so, by sending you these tidings.

Take care of yourself, attend to your health, and — if
think of me you must — picture me always in the frame
of this birthday-morning mood ! It will be a comfort to
you, and you will flourish too, for sure ! —

Best wishes from
Your

Richard Wagner.

133.

Biebrich

June 9, 1862.
Dear Lady-friend,

For days and days have I been intending to write dear

Myrrha and. thank her for the share I'm sure I must ascribe

♦ The word stands thus in the MS., instead of "nahet." [N.B. —
The brief explanatory programme contained in Prose Works VIII., p. 388,.
was not written till seven years later. — Tr,]

AFTERMATH 305

her in the lovely cushion ; but she also must get used to my
ingratitude, which doesn't consist in actual want of thanks,
but in so frequent omission to attest them. Such attesta-
tions are agreeable, flattering effusions, wherewith one flatters
and delights oneself the most : I seldom come to execution
even of such pleasant projects now ; all trends with me
towards a last and serious close, so it is but with sadness
I can look at e'en the flowers strewn upon this final road.

The poem you sent me to-day is very beautiful — quite
masterly, I think ; only, the point of the legend now appears
to me otherwise. There flattering hope is given the nixy,*
but I for my part understand no hope now, have become
impervious to nothing so much as its suasion ; in its place
I understand that happiness we have not first to hope for,,
but truly in ourselves are masters of. Perhaps you will
remember how I told you once in days gone by, that as
life went on I had ever grown more vividly aware that Art
would never furnish me a happiness beyond conception till
every good of life were reft me, all, all were lost, and any
possibility of hoping cut away. I remember also in my
thirtieth year, or thereabouts,t having asked myself in inward
doubt if I really did possess the grit for an artistic in-
dividuality of highest rank ; in my works I could still trace
influence and imitation, and only with misgivings did I
dare look forward to my further evolution as a thoroughly
original producer. Well, at the time when I told you the
above — that period of strange passion — on a lonely walk one
day the possibility suddenly occurred to me of losing one
boon whose possible possession must from of old have
seemed to me unthinkable ; and then I felt the time would
come for Art to acquire a quite hew meaning in my eyes

• See *' Religion and Art,'* Pross Works VI, p. 249, and cf. p. 22 1»
sup, — ^Tr.

t Therefore between the Holl&nder and Tannh&user. — Tr.

304 WAGNER TO MATHELDE WESENDONCK

a meaning altogether wondrous, — the time when not a
hope would ever have the power to snare my heart again.

Thus has the full meaning of the old Messiah-l^end
also dawned on me at last They were waiting for a liberator
and redeemer, of the seed of David, a king of Israel : every-
thing came true ; palms were strewn before him ; — only, the
unexpected occurred, for he said to them, " My kingdom is not
of this world." * So do all the nations yearn and strive for
their Messiah, who shall fulfil their wishes of this life : he comes,
and says to them. Give wishing up itself! — Tis the ultimate
solution of the great Wish-riddle, — which you must admit
that your friend Hutten and the others did not understand.

Myself, I have no wish left, save to be able to work.
Even to the representation of my works my wishes extend
no longer, and compulsion thereto I accept as an unavoid-
able calamity. To Vienna I have been definitively invited
for the autumn, to produce the Tristan : that disturbs me
now. Yet it irks me also to be driven in my work
[bySchott?], for, the way Tm working now, I cannot do it
quickly. Assured leisure were what I most could wish :
if I cannot attain it, I suppose I still must feel the pain
of life; but its anticipation would enhance the pleasure of
creating. I should like a haven in the most complete and
utter solitude, and that is very hard to gain. —

Accept my felicitations yourself; give my kind regards
and thanks to Myrrha, as also to your husband, to whom I
still owe hearty thanks for his last letter !

From my heart Yours

Richard Wagner.

* Slightly expanded, the same parable is narrated to Malwida within
a week (see Letters to Otto etc\ whilst an immature variant is to be found
thirteen years earlier in the working-out section of Jestis of Nazareth
(Prose Works VIII. 297-9).— May the " Wunsch-Rathsel " toward the
paragraph's close be a lapsus calami for Welt-Rdthsel^ i,e "Riddle of
the World"?— Tr.

AFTERMATH 305

[Between this and ttie next came three letters to Otto^
wfiilst a fourth bears the same date as our no, 134 — see I-^tters
to Otto. The master had meanwhile left Biebrich for Vienna ^
arriving mid-November^ to prepare for the eternally deferred
production ^Tristan und Isolde. On tfu day before no, 134
tu telegraphs to a disciple that he is ^^ half dead'^ from the
rehearsals for his concerts oft/te 26th and New Yearns day. — Zr.}

[Kaiserin Elisabeth,]

Vienna, Dec 21, 62.
I had a beautiful sweet dream of you last night, directly-
after falling asleep. May it betoken you good — all the
good I wish you, cherished Friend, with all my heart !

It aflFected me much, midst all the stress and misery
of the present, that a dream should still remind me of your
birthday in good time. That was fine, and I observe that
Dream at least still cares for me.

Fervent greeting I

Richard Wagner.

\For Frau WesendoncHs three-line reply vid, inf — Wagners
outward history between nos, 134 and 135 is sufficiently
indicated in no. 136. He had returned to Vienna the end of
Aprils only to find his Tristan still postponed^ and writes from
his new ^ home * in what then was an outlying suburb, — TV.]

135.

\To Frau Eliza Wille^ Mariafeld,']

221. Penzing bei Wien

June 5, 1863.
Dear honoured Lady,
In a day or two I mean to write to Wesendonck's again
at last ; only — it can only be to him. I am too fond of

306 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

the wife, my heart i? so melting and full when I think
of her, that it is impossible for me to address her with
that formality which would be more incumbent on me now,
in her regard, than ever; neither can I write her from my
heart without an act of treason to her husband, whom I
sincerely prize and honour. What, then, is to be done?
for I also cannot keep it wholly buried in my heart ; some
human soul, at least, must learn how it stands with me.
So I tell it you : She is and stays my first and only love ;
I feel it plainer every day. That was the summit of my
life ; the trembling years of beautiful distress I lived beneath
the waxing spell of her proximity hold all the sweetness
of my life. It needs but the remotest ground, and I am
back amidst them, all saturated with that magic atmosphere
which takes my breath still, just as then, and leaves me
nothing but a sigh. And were there no stimulant else,
yet dreams would do it ; dreams that refresh me every
time they shew her to me. — Now tell me, friend, how can
I converse with this lady as now it should and must be ? —
Impossible !— Ah, even do I feel I dare not see her any
more ; in Venice once already such a wiedersehen made me
right unhappy : only after I had entirely lost that memory,
did she become to me again quite what she was before.
This do I feel : fair will she ever remain in my eyes, and
never will my love of her turn cold, but 1 dare not see
her face to face ; not under this awful constraint, which —
imperative as I acknowledge it — must be the death-knell
of our love. What am I to do, then ? Should I leave my
dearest in the fallacy that she has grown indifferent to me ?
But oh, that falls so hard ! — Should you relieve her of that
fallacy, would that be doing good ? I know not ! —And
life will slip away at last ; O misery ! —

Since my departure from Zurich I have been strictly
living as in exile ; what I sacrificed then, no tongue can

AFTERMATH 307

tell ! — 'Tis my solitary craving now, to arrive at lleast at
household peace again, be left to live for work alone. By
dint of untold exertions I have bought myself at least the
possibility of founding a hearth once more, which I hence-
forth have to tend entirely alone. Repeated attempts have
-convinced myself and friends that a continued dwelling
with my wife is clean impossible, and thoroughly injurious
to us both ; so she is living in Dresden, where I provide
for her abundantly beyond my means. She cannot quite
•compose herself as yet, and I am forced — with strenuous
subdual of recurrent accesses of pity — to adopt an attitude
of sternness, without which I should only prolong her
sufferings and rob myself of all prospect of peace. I can
truly say, this trial is the hardest I have ever borne; but
there ! — I am renouncing all, and wish for nothing but a
working rest ; the sole relief to clear my conscience and
make me really free ! —

And now, my dear, do be beseeched and tell me often
of our lady-friend, — ^you love her still, I hope, and she is
likewise true to you ? Indeed it is too hard to know so
infinitely loved a being's life so utterly remote and alien,
without the power to cast a glance upon it anywhere. What
I may learn through her husband, you will comprehend,
xrannot shew me the Lady-friend to whom I dare protest
undying love e'en tho* I never mean to see her more.
Never? — Tis hard, — but so it must be! —

I have just been opening that green case, again, she
sent me once to Venice. How many an agony of life has
been passed through since then, and yet to be encompassed
at a touch with all the old, unspeakably beautiful charm I
Sketches for Tristan there, for the music of her poems ! —
Ah, dearest friend, 'tis true one loves but once, whatever
of intoxicant or flattering this life may bring our way !
Yes, I know it now, now first completely, that I shall never

3o8 WAGNER TO MATHBLDE WESENDONCK

cease to love but her. You will respect the innocence of
this avowal, and forgive me that I make confession to
yourself?

Good-bye, and be a friend to

Your

Richard Wagner.

136.

[To Otto.']

221. Penzing
bei Wien.

June 6, 1863.
Best Friend,

I really must have news of your two selves at last ! Of
mine you will learn something worth hearing only when
I can tell you Tm at work again ; for happenings, however
manifold, have no more actual sense for me. My Russian
travel, St Petersburg, Moscow, with all the episodes attached
thereto, only influenced me in so far as it was to contribute
to freeing me from all such things and conducting to a
haven of work. Under terms and conditions like those,
my bitterness regarding the heap of people who have more
surety and ease than they know what to do with is often
very great, and gives me an ironic undertone to almost every
act of kindness shewn me. When I reflect on the states
of unrest into which I have fallen since quitting Zurich,
I cannot but accuse my fate of hardness; for it is solely
the chance of finding rest again to write my projected
works at last, that lends this foolish hunt for it a meaning.

Well, I have traversed my fiftieth birthday, and had
wellnigh to felicitate myself on keeping it in total
solitude I My rural dwelling was thereafter treated to a
torchlight procession [June 3] which I attended rather
absent-mindedly. Just as the line of lights was drawing

AFTERMATH 309

near across a bridge, the most splendid full-moon rose above
the tree-tops of the Schonbrunn garden, and gazed in
mystical sublimity upon the mummery beneath. Even
during the singing, a couple of young people who were
with me up above heard naught from me but exclamations
at the glory of the moon. It was the old familiar, unique
friend, that drew to me above this childish stranger world —
exactly as it used to cross the distant wreath of Alps and
move athwart your garden to my — Asyl !

— Asyl! — How often have I thought, ere this, that I
had found a haven ! ! — This last time I was so in need
of an abode of rest, that, with eyes for nothing save a quiet
dwelling with a garden, I took the very first that came ;
a week later, and apparently I should have settled at
Bingen. While that hung fire, I heard of this ; indifferent
as to where, I closed with here ; and now Fve but one wish,
that at least it may be granted me to stop here till my
end!— As things stand in Germany and with myself, the
only chance I see of bringing that about is by dint of
periodical excessive strains, journeys to Russia and such-
like ; though I cannot conceive how Tm to sustain them
for long. Some day folk will read it perhaps in my
biography, and many a one will wonder ; for I naturally
shall come to grief on one of those occasions. If you want
a notion how such undertakings tax me, compare for a
joke the three Petersburg photographs,* which were taken
at the commencement, with the Moscow one for which I
sat a fortnight later! — However, it has got to be! —

For all that, I haven't lost my old mania for fitting up
the dwelling of my final choice as tastily as possible ; should
your household care to make a trifling contribution,! from

• See Mr. H. S. Chamberlain's Richard Wagner p. 70.— Tr.

t See postscript to this letter, and openings of the next two.— Tr.

3IO WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

no one would it be more welcome — as you must be aware.
For you really are the only , ones to whom I belong on this
earth, in a measure ; to that pass has it come, and I can
make no fresh beginning. That I belong to you, you both
have earned with griefs and sacrifices of all kinds.

— What did you think of the Swiss villa the Grossfurstin
Helene of Russia presented me with ? Weren't you a little
afraid of getting me slung about your neck again ? Luckily
the villa stands in the same place as the 50,000 fr»^
which Vm supposed to have netted in Russia. How
welcome it must be to all my German patrons, to know
that Tm so sumptuously provided for and it hasn't cost
them a penny ! — ^Well, well, it's just my usual fate, to figure
as the enviable 1

Ah, dearest friend, enough about myself! Once I saxt
back at my Meistersinger, you two shall hear again ; I'm
so distracted at present, that I can collect my wits for
nothing. Still better, if you gave me prompt occasion
by heartily-begged news of yourselves ; for which I'm
longing much !

With a thousand good greetings.

Your

Richard Wagoner.

I would gladly have a pretty good-sized portrait (photo-
graphic) of your wife, please ; the Green Hill already hangs
framed in my room.

[To Mathilde henceforward^

187.

221. Penzing bei Wien.

June 28, 1863.
Freundin,
A beautiful, beautiful portfolio arrived to-day ; it is
destined for the Meistersinger. I have managed down to

AFTERMATH 311

now quite capitally with the green one, which I unpacked
again the other day ( — I have settled once morel — ) and
behold! all kinds of sketches and strange leaves therein,
all tucked into a corner. Dear Heaven, it looked like Tristan
still, inside there I Never mind ; the mastersingers had to
creep in too. Now, don't be cross with me for once, I'm
not a proper Master yet; even with my music I haven't
got much beyond the 'prentices (so God knows how it all
will turn !) : wherefore the perfectly finished shall always
go into the new portfolio, and look so grand that I'll tell
myself each time I peep at it, " Come, you're already a bit
of a master, — tho' nothing like so much as she who sent
you the Master-portfolio"; but the unfinished (alas! and
how much about me is unfinished !) shall jog along in the
big green one meanwhile, with all the gleanings from old
wondrous days. I really am more faithful than you may
believe, and perhaps than you are sometimes made believe
about me ; so the mastersingers, if ever they're to come to
anything, must come into the world partout in the same old
green portfolio : Cxod only knows what luck 'twill bring
them ! But whatever gets quite straight at last shall move,
as said, to the new brown one ; already there are 40 pages
of full score inside, — tho* I've no idea at all what luck 'twill
bring.

How am I to make that intelligible to you?— Admit,
it's hard for so unfinished a mastersinger to write you ; e.g.,
if I were to tell you, A master ought to have repose, I must
confess at once that / have none, and — ^what's worse ! — am
never like to have any. That's the hideous truth which
has now become quite plain to me : I've no repose ! I
cut myself entirely loose from men, relations, every sort
of intercourse at last, because at bottom all torment me —
that's how I am ! — and furnish me a nice still dwelling ;
every nook in it has to fit to my mind, I'm a-fever to make

312 WAGNER TO MATfULDE WESENDONCK

it all immensely snug and comfortable, for I tell myself.
There shall you stick, pass all your time there (fortune
favouring) and stay entirely alone. — To be alone : ah ! the
bliss that thrills through me anon, when I tell myself that
— before I actually am alone. Good : 1 get alone — foolish
man, as if my heart weren't yoked to me I — and then at
last my full unrest explodes, now in the likeness of care,
new of craving. I yearn for a presence, since nothing save
presence can soothe — believe me, the god of peace and
happiness, his name is " Presence " — and — have to do without
it. So I take up at first with my serving-folk," who soon
grow fond of me ; then a dog is added. Not that I have
procured myself a new one, — I've a horror of everything
now now, all new associations, even with a dc^ ; but thieves
broke in, the other day, and stole a gold snuffbox which
the Moscow orchestra had given me as souvenir ; that
grieved my old Baron who lives below, and he placed his
old retriever at my service. So the d(^ now sleeps in my
rooms at night, and will not quit me even in the day ; he
clings to my heels wherever I go. His name is Pohl ; he's
brown and strong, but aged already, as I said : ere long

he'll die,t like Fipps and Peps,— the pity of it! To

resume : I fancy I shall reach no true repose. Even as
regards the Meistersinger I'm still mistrustful, earnestly and
calmly as the brown portfolio stares at me. —

Can Otto be cross with me for not having written to
him so long? Well, I did write him as soon as my
birthday was over — the so momentously awaited 50th [cf.
p. 231] — lest he might think I only wrote him when I wished
to bother him for something ; but if it were not for yourself
' — "•"" "^-ouldn't have known if he received my lines or

jccellent couple, maa and wife, n&nied Mrazek. — Tr.

rived the whole Munich peritxl, and died in Januaiy 1866

AFTERMATH 313

no. How goes it with his health ; does his throat still
trouble him? I hope for good news of him.

How stands it with beautiful Switzerland ? Is the lake
as vivid green and blue as ever ; and the mountains with
their fields of snow ? — Children, indeed you chose yourselves
a lovely land, and oft-times does a longing for it seize me ;
once I hoped to die there some fine day ! Methinks I was
often more restful there, upon the whole, than I am now ;
Swiss scenery like that has something tranquillising ! A
sunset I no longer know ; just a couple on the Rhine of
late. But no residence would come to hand there, so Tm
seated here for the sake of some fine tall trees which I have
in the garden ; and the abode is restful, — not myself! How-
ever, I told you that before. —

And how do things fare with yourself? To you Hans
Sachs came easy; to me he still comes hard. Art also
can be serious — not life alone ! Adieu, Lady-friend !

Stay kind to

Your
R, W.

138.

Penzing, August 3, 1863.

Dearest Meisterin,

According to your last dear lines * I might strictly have

looked for " further particulars " from Schwalbach. Meantime

I ran over to Pesth, whither I had been invited by the

Hungarians, to give two "concerts."! I got back a few

* An unpreserved letter of July 15, which would fall between nos. 7
and 8 of Frau Wesendonck's own group, evidently announcing her de-
parture for a 'cure' (see end of the present one). — Is it necessary to
•explain that the only possible English equivalent for Meisterin in this
connection would be "Lady-master," with allusion to her verses of
^•7a"?— Tr.

t July 23 and 28 ; including the Meistersinger overture, which he had
given first at Leipzig to an empty bouse the year before (Nov. i, 62). — Tr.

314 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

days since, and found at least the promised lamp ; which
I find most beautiful and masterly, and would have you
freely thanked for. —

With my haven it's so-so, really curious ! The need of
a more permanent foothold, with a suitable pleasant abode,,
had become overpowering ; I felt that only from a similar
base could I look out on the world once more — for a final
time — to discover how things stand twixt it and me. Well^
I find they don't stand for the best, and heartily repent
having laid out my poor hard earnings on securing the ex-
pensive basis for that step in knowledge. As nobody seems
inclined to take me in, I should have put my few thousand
Russian roubles to better use by buying myself into the
first Italian hospice and leaving the world to go its way;
for I really don't see any need of me in it. It is the honest
truth Vm telling you, and calmly from the bottom of my
soul! Were I to count up all the queer mischances that
have dogged me since my departure from Switzerland, you
yourself could only see therein a wellnigh systematic reckon-
ing of Fate's, to turn me from my purpose. I have no luck ;
and it takes a little luck to keep a man like myself under
the delusion that he belongs to the world. —

Meisterin, it is not well with me, and I'm aweary of life,
— as I plainly ascertained the other day, when at instant
peril of death. It happened near Pesth on the Danube, in
the same boat two young Hungarian cavaliers had sailed
from Rotterdam to Pesth. A spirited lady, Grafin Bethlen,
mother of six children, had undertaken to steer ; at a sudden
squall she grew alarmed, and brought the boat too near
the wind ; the waves dashed it against a raft, and it cracked
in two. Well, compassion for the mother seized me, but
so singular a sense of comfort for my private self, so buoyant
and so bracing that our young-folks could hardly contain
their wonder at my conduct, as they would rather have

AFTERMATH 315

expected great excitement from such a nervous man as me.
When they began praising me — for I did a little toward the
rescue — I had almost to burst out laughing !

What is the use ? Dying is no such easy job, especially
if one's time hasn't come yet ; and that must be the case
with me, except that I cannot see at all what I am spared
for. To be something, perhaps, to my dear ones ! ? Could
I be less to them when they know that I am dead, than
now when I'm cut off on every side and merely suffer?
Personally I can be nothing more to anybody, — and my
spirit? That remains with them, whilst it quickens my
heart no more. I have no zest any longer, — for nothing.
All devoutness fails me, all concentration ; a deep, restless
distraction sways my inner man ; I have no present, quite
palpably no future, of belief not a speck. To be sure, the
right artistic function, the representing of my own new
works, might have made a great difference ; but my return
to Germany has dealt the death-blow to that. It is an
abominable country, and a certain [Arnold] Ruge is right
in saying, "The German is low."* Not a trace of hope
exists there, and you may judge how it stands with my
erst-presumed high patrons, when I tell you that I have
been invited to repeat my Vienna concerts by the Czechs
of Prague, the Russians, the Hungarians, whereas I am
certain that my precious Germans would decline me if I
made an offer of myself. In Berlin the Intendant refused
to accept my call, and so on ; since my return from Russia
I haven't found it possible to look up a soul belonging
to this theatre as yet: my loathing of these people is sa
strong, that I am incapable of undertaking anything else
for which I should require them. Everybody who knows
anything, finds that perfectly natural ; only, it also means

* Or "abject" — niederirdchHg — sec "German Art and Germaa
Policy,*' Prose Works IV, 92.— Tr.

3l6 WAGNER TO MATHELDE WESENDONCK

the close of my career. Believe me, it is a strange feeling,
to know that even you are really not acquainted with my
works ; I have simply to conduct a morsel of them properly,
and even the most gifted and experienced of my disciples
at once admit that they had as good as no conception of
the piece before. What, then, is my spirit, what my works ?
— without me, they exist for no one! Yes, that makes
my humble person of great weight to me ; only — this
personality itself exists for none but me, and that's a bad
business. Something, no doubt, may be said on the other
side, including words of comfort, of emphatic flattery ; but
it avails with me no longer : I hear they are words, even
see it when theyVe written — as for that matter, nearly all
my intercourse with men is carried on by letter now.

What am I to do with my haven, then, despite portfolio
and lamp? A knotty point, especially with my great
•distraction. I turn and twist it in my mind : If I set
myself a term again, a fixed number of years — ^say five, —
how am I to start gaining them? That is growing very
difficult, and to tell the truth, I dotit know how. My
needs are increasing, Tve a double household to keep up —
two altogether wretched ones ! — so my person has occurred
to me. Nobody asks for my works, the world pays heed
to nothing save the virtuoso ; now want has shewn me that
I also am a virtuoso. At the head of an orchestra I appear
to produce that effect on these people; the Hungarians,
who hadn't a notion of my music, and live on nothing
but Verdi etc. at their National-theatre, took in each single
number from my Nibelungen, Tristan, Meistersinger, with
NCK

142.

Penzing, Oct 17.
I must correct my announcement of yesterday, and
acquaint you that my Carlsruhe concert cannot take place
till the 14th of November. Therefore, if you should have
any kind reassurance to send me, particularly as to Otto's
condition, I would beg you to address it for the present
to Penzing still.

With heart's devotion

R. W.

143.

No doub. you will guess. Lady-friend, of what weight
your letter has been to me ! I told you a while ago that
my resolve could not be talked about, but only gradually
disclosed by execution ; and now you answer me quite
rightly. La vie est une science, — it must be learnt and
practised [cf. p* 360]. I believe I am ripe for it, and know
but one'desire now : Repose and work ! —

Of my enterprises for this winter much still remains
vague ; all I know for certain, is that I have to make one
final effort, not to achieve, but to close behind me. The
day after to-morrow (Oct. 31) I go to Prague (Black Horse)
for 2 concerts ; Nov. 10 I reach Carlsruhe ; the 14th is
the concert there, and should Otto have so far recovered
as to be able to bring you thither, I fancy I may promise
both of you a fine impression. Thence on, uncertainty
pervades my plans : roughly, between then and Christmas
I have concerts in prospect at Breslau, Lowenberg in Silesia
(Prince of Hechingen), Dresden, perhaps Hanover, and
probably Prague once more. Possibly St Petersburg will
then take March and April, conceivably Kieflf and Odessa
the previous January also ; perhaps, too, Pesth again. You
may imagine the state of my poor nerves in view of such

AFTERMATH 325

geography ! It seems almost criminal to myself, but nothing
else is left me.

Now, I should like in the interval, if you will put me
up, to find brief rest with you ; perhaps about Christmas-
tide ; possibly even from Carlsruhe. Don't be astonished —
tho' it be only for a few days — if I drag out the portfolio
and try to work a little. Moreover, I have a petition as
regards my board: please send me lunch and dinner to
my room ; meals in common to be reserved for special
festivals, and at your special invitation. — Otto's recovery
is to me a veritable gift from Heaven ; we here (I and
the doctor) quite share your opinion that this illness has
been a crisis of most beneficial consequences. All this
is very beautiful and profoundly gladdening to me. —

Now accept my earnest heartfelt thanks again for your kind

letters. — Salute Otto and the children from a loyal heart ;

they are all to be good to me ; Yourself as well !

Your

R. W.
Penzing, Oct. 29, 63.

I am sending Otto a brochure [cf. p. 32 1»]. You will
judge by it how placably I think of issuing from the world,
but will also infer the said issue's necessity from the certainty
of my knowledge that even such practical, simple proposals
will find no hearing.

[As Frau Wesendonck's reply speaks of a chance of Otto's
deing well enough to take her to Carlsruhe^ it is possible
that tliey heard the Meistersinger overture and Sachs' Cobbler-
song there, either Nov, 14 or at the concerns repetition on the
19/A. In at^ case the next we hear of Wagner is from the
Green Hilly where he arrives between the 20th and 22ndy and
sends Herwegh an invitation in t/ie name of his hosts the

326 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

^l^d.for t/iat evening. Presumably he spent the best part of
a week on the Green Hill, for he does not reach Mainz till
the 2jth, en route for t/ie concerts mentioned below, — Zr.]

144.

Penzing, Dec. 1 5, 63.

A mere brief note !

I have been back since the evening of the 9th inst.
Arrival in the dwelling which Fate has assigned me as home
had a tristely comforting eflfect on me. Everything was
warm and snug, Franz and Anna [Mrazek] pleased to see
me, no ill befallen ; only Pohl had so fretted at my absence
that he really was much aged. It was an odd feeling, to
be surrounded with familiar beings and objects not one
whereof I knew a year ago.

The dismalest is my great exhaustion. This the upshot
of my "art-tour" — that I cannot dream of either continuing
or repeating it. Impossible to go to Russia ; but whatever's
to become of me without that aid, I vacantly inquire.

At Lowenberg I found a very good-natured man in the
Prince, but unfortunately he is too old, and has been too
much imposed on, to be able to be of use to me. At Breslau
I found myself thoroughly shamed, and cut a very sorry
figure in my own eyes,* — but an old acquaintance turned
into a famous new ; Frau VVille's sister, Fr. v. Bissing, came
to Lowenberg and Breslau for the concert. My great
fatigue and agitation, for which she made most kind allow-
ance, permitted no true freedom in our intercourse ; never-
theless, the few hours were of deep value for us both.

Cornelius will come out every day to me, I hope, in
spite of wind and weather. I am trying with singularly
bitter pains to keep myself this Asyl.

* A snub administered by a wealthy resident whose assistance had
been half promised ; see Glasenapp II, ii., 440-41. — Tr.

AFTERMATH 327

Let me hear good of you soon, and greet husband and
children from the heart of

Your

R. Wagner.

145.

A thousand fervent heartfelt greetings for the birthday !
I can offer you no gifts but of the heart now ; my fancy
still refuses me its old-accustomed services ; *tis musing on
repose and paths that lead thereto. In spirit I shall be
among you, tho', and taste full lovely visions of the family-
feast !

A thousand good wishes with the greetings !

R. W.

Penzing, Dec. 21, 63.

[Tkus the last unconstrained exchange of letters is prompted
on the selfsame day (vid. inf. p. 363), and the prime cause
of the ensuing twelvemonth's silence must be sought in some
third factor, perhaps some unrecorded appeal to the husband
for renewed assistance in the serious financial straits above-
foreshadowed. Next March it is Frau Wille who is asked
whet/ier t/ie Wesendoncks can accommodate the composer with
" a work-room either in the principal building, or in the little
neighbouring house I occupied before," to enable him to com-
plete his Meistersinger — tJie entire first act w/iereof had Just
been sent to Scliott — by that summer^ s end, Wlio conveyed tlie
refusal, we do not know precisely ; but within a fortnight
we find Wagner escaping from Vienna creditors and taking,
literally, taking s/telter at Mariafeld, where he reaps the Willes'
hospitality for barely a month {see Letters to Otto etc.).
Tlien comes that miraculous transformation-scene, resale by
Ludwig II. of Bavaria at t/te beginning of May ; followed
by the master's establishment in Munich and the removal

328 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

thither of the faithfulest of his disciples^ Cornelius^ Hans von
BUlow^ and tlie lattef^s wife, — This in explanation of the next
letter^ which itself is a reply to Frau WesendoncKs of fan, 13,
1865.— rr.]

146.

[Munich, mid-January 1865.]
. Best Child, I think it would be best to send the whole
portfolio ; I pledge myself, with all that's dear to me, that
it shall return to its lady-owner unimpaired, and rather
enriched than diminished. It would fall hard to point out
everything that might need copying and despatching to
us ; so it's better that I should search among the things
themselves.

It required a strong inducement, to get me to take any
part in this, but my young King is just the man to set it
all in order; he has the right pertinacity, and all his
instigation springs from his own self. Now Semper has to
build me a splendid new theatre (there's nothing else for
it already), the best singers are to be fetched from all ends
to represent my works, and — all my writings, of no matter
when, must be culled from all hidden portfolios. Knowing
that he must not give me much to do with it, he [the King]
tactfully turns to my friends ; and that's what he has done
in this case also [cf. p. 363]. At his often-repeated request,
you see, I had had to state what I had written, and whither
it had disappeared ; so I had to denounce the big portfolio on
the Green Hill too, — I couldn't help myself. But no harm
is meant ; simply, he wants everything collected, to take it
in his charge and know that he possesses me entire.
Ay, child, tie loves me ; there's no gainsaying it ! —
If things don't go quite right with me despite all that,
no doubt there may be reasons. The lighter grows my
freight of faith, the higher my insurance, — already I believe

AFTERMATH 329

in next to nothing, and to fill that void it needs a quite
prodigious ballast of royal favour ! Once I was to be had
cheaper ; now my clairvoyance is terrible, and the illusion
anent that fearful weakness everywhere, which shrunk back
from me as from a madman, is becoming hardly possible to
me again.* Yet I do all I can, and still gladly await
something better from men ; in which my young King just
assists me. He knows all, and — ^wills ! — ^so I myself am
bound to will too, tho* it often strikes my soul as
strange. —

Best greeting to the Green Hill! — They told me lately,
it had been offered for sale this summer ; is that so ? —
Whither away then ? — Am I quite too inquisitive ? — Ought
I to renew my kind thanks for the Christmas present ? Did
the big Micky expect it ? Scarcely ! There's another old
letter to read,t — shall I find that in the portfolio ? —

Adieu ! I recollect with love !

R. W.

147.

[Munich, Spring 1865.]

Freundin,

The Tristan will be wonderful.

Will you come ? ?

Your
1st performance isth May. R. W.

* Cf. Sept. 9, 64, to Frau Wille : " I had really been abandoned
by all my oldfriendSy — literally you alone still believed in me " ; and
exactly a month later, '* Your silence alarms me. Surely you received a
letter of mine a short while back ? " {Letters to Otto etc), — Tr.

t Dr. Golther teUs us '* the letter does not exist/* evidently considering
that the reference is to the enigmatic '* Brief an * * * *' in Frau
Wesendonck's list (ind. inf.) ; but I am inclined to think that this *' noch
einen alten Brief is figurative (probably also the *' Chiistmas present")
— an indirect appeal for renewal of old friendship, — Tr.

330 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

\No one from Zurich came to Jtear Tristan {see the letter
of next September to Frau Wille\ tfu first public petformance
■of which had eventually to be postponed to the loth of fune
owing to " Isolde's " indisposition. A few weeks afterwards^
however^ Wagner extends an olive-bough to Otto^ in the shape
t of a beautiful epistle^ one passage wherein has so often been

\ misinterpreted that it will be as well to give a somewhat closer

\ rendering than heretofore: — '* The disturbance that drove

me from you six years back should have been avoided : it
so estranged my life from me, that you yourself, as I, did
not really know me again when I last approached you once
more. This [latter] pain should also have been spared me :
to myself it seemed as if it might have been possible, and
beautiful, very beautiful would it have been, ay, sublime, if
it had been spared me, — but one must not ask for the
sublime, — and I was wrong. — Now much has altered with
me. Everything around me has become fairly new " etc.
(Letters to Otto). Here the " ich hatte Unrecht " (" / was
wrong'') most clearly refers^ not to the "Storung, die mich
vor sechs Jahren von Ihnen trieb " — which^ by the way,
should be " seven ' if it does not actually refer to the unlucky
Paris expedition — but to tlie estrangement which cotnmenced
in tlie winter 1863-64.

From tlu time of tlie said letter and its reply ^ July -August
1865, friendly relations with Herr Wesendonck were re-
establishedy and we find letters sent to hi?n at not unfrequent
intervals down to tlie end of 1870. The only one to Frau
Mathilde still extant is the next and last of our series^ though
the sweet lady's own simple words of 1896 sJumld be recalled
here : " After his second marriage * Wagner*s first visit with
his wife was paid to ^ Mariafeld' near Zurich and to t/te
'Green Hill' at Enge. Tlie Festivals at Bayreuth we never

♦ August 1870; Minna had died in January 1866. — fr.

AFTERMATH 33 1

^nissed, Down to the master's death we remained in friendly
commune with him^ — Tr.]

148.

Honoured Freundin,
Would you perhaps mind searching among the manu-
scripts of olden time, kindly preserved by you, for a sheet

of music

At Weber's last Resting-place^
chant for 4 male voices, and let me have a copy of it in
case you find it ? You would be heartily obliging Your

Richard Wagner,

who with his wife sends you very best greetings.

Tribschen.

June 28, 1871.

To supplement these later letters^ we find the following
private dedications: —

Written in the pfte {vocal) score ofDi^ Meistersinger :
"To his valued friends on the Green Hill, in grateful
remembrance,

Richard Wagner.
May 1868"—

In that of Siegfried :

" For the cherishing of ancient memories, as also in
continuation of the Green Hill library, with grateful
greeting,

Richard Wagner.

Tribschen, August 14, 1871 "—

332 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

In that (7/"G6tterdammerung :

** To his honoured friends of the Green Hill, with old
fidelity and gratitude,

Richard Wagner.
Bayreuth, May 13, 1875.

And it dammered after all ! R. W."

Mathilde Wesendonck

A;t,.v ,1 H,-t<-li..r l,y Joseph Ko,,l

FROM HER TO HIM

TALES AND LETTERS,
1859 to 1865.

333

As the succeeding 14 Utters ^ and t/u few poems included
tlierewith^ are publis/ied in t/ie German edition as t/te ** only
existing replies to t/ie master' s^^ and as i/iey do not commence
till so latCy I preface t/iem with a couple of tales from an
earlier period — tales that bear tJieir personal allusion on tluir
face. These I borrow from. Frau Mathilde's little book of
*' jMdrchen und Mdrchenspielel' reprinted in 1900 from its
original issue of March 1864 and dedicated on the one
occasion to lier children^ on t/te other to Iter grand-c/tildren. As
to t/te first tale^ " The Stranger Bird," it certainly was written
circa C/tristmas 1858-9, — see IVagners " t/tanks for t/te lovely
fable " //. 95 and 98 sup. ; t/te date of t/te second cannot be
assigned so positively^ since t/te reference at foot of p. 159 is
puzzling — no " Fo/tretimdrc/ten " being included in t/u said
collection^ — yet Wagner's reference on p, 158 to t/te Erardy
wliic/t /te /tad c/tristened '* the Swan " {p. 57), ma/ies fuly 1859
a presumable birt/t-time for t/tis. — W, A. E,

334

The Stranger Bird

It was a wonderfully mild Spring day ; the earth looked
like a freshly opening rose in the fragrance of the morning
dew. The rays of the noonday sun enticed and coaxed
the blossoms forth, without scorching them ; for they still
were shy and doubtful, all ignorant of their power, like a
lover with his child-sweetheart ere the dear secret has slipped
from his lips. So the sun made itself as handsome as it
could, and smiled, and never seemed tired of gazing. And
every glance became a flower. Forget-me-nots sprang from
its childlike honest eyes ; its earnest sacred trust was shewn
in violets, its love in the rose, and its innocence in snow-
drops. The wounds, however, that its thorns made, were
changed into purple-red strawberries ; its tears fell into the
flower-cups like nourishing dew ; the deep sighs from its
bosom fluttered through the air and gave a good shake to the
fresh-clad trees and shrubs to see that every leaf was quite
secure and not merely pretending. But the strange thoughts
which flitted through its head became little birds, who made
field and forest, hill and vale, brim over with lovely music.
If a human soul but heard that sweet carol, it filled him
with such joy and pain that he knew not whether to laugh
or cry ; but his heart remained devoted to the pretty
songsters all his life. When the music stopped he would

* In the Englishing of these tales and letters of Frau Wesendonck's
I have had the valuable assistance of a friend, *' Evelyn Pyne," who also
has kindly translated the accompanying verses. — W. A. £.

335

336 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

grow sad, for it left deep longing in his breast ; he felt as
tho' cast out of Paradise a second time, and remained solemn
and grave all the rest of his days. Yet peace was within
him, and no more idle wish for passing empty pleasures.

Now, one of these little birds was hopping gaily on before
a tiny lassie, who was trying in vain to catch the pretty
warbler in her small white apron. Playfully teasing her,
the bird would now come close, and then skip far away,
drawing its tiny pursuer to and fro through field and thicket
Out of breath and tired at last by such a chase, she sat her
down upon a stone beneath an old gnarled beech-tree.
As it threw its shade across her burning face, she wiped
the perspiration from her forehead, while her little heart
went pit-a-pat as if it needs must burst. Before her, perched
upon a branch, the bird sat silent.

It was late in the afternoon by now ; the setting sun was
gilding the topmost crests of the distant hills as tho' seeking
to save himself by this warm embrace from the death he
seemed hastening to. But their faces soon grew pale, and
down he sank into a sea of dreams, while long crape-like
shadows moved across the darkening earth. The little one
wished to go home, that her mother might not grow
frightened about her ; but each time she stood up, the bird
on the bough began to sing, and it sounded as if he were
weeping and crying, until it drew her by force to her seat
again. So she picked up her little basket, took out her
supper, and listening all the while, began to eat it The
crumbs she strewed around, for the dear little creature's
sake ; but it did not seem hungry, and paid no heed to them.
The shadows grew longer on the ground ; the patches of
light in the wood became smaller and smaller ; whilst aloft
in the sky, here and there, a pale star peeped out dim
and misty. At last she got up, filled her little basket with
sweet-smelling wildflowers to take to her mother, and made

FROM HER TO HIM 337

ready to go. Then suddenly the bird sang out quite loud
and clear:

Baby mine

sweet of eyne,

do not pine.

Fairies fine

shall be thine

where stars aye shine :

follow, follow me!
The flowers dropped from the child's hands, and she
ran after the songster, who no longer seemed so anxious
to escape her, but kept quite close, and carolled as he
hopped on before her. How pleased she felt to understand
his language! It almost seemed to her that he would
perch tamely on her shoulder ere long, and let himself
be taken home, and never fly away again. In her mind
she already saw her mother's joy at welcoming so rare a
guest ; the narrow cabin widened out into a palace, and
her quick little heart leapt high at the thought that it
would never feel lonely any more. How often had she
sat at the slit of a window in the poky little room, and
looked out longing for a playmate. Hard work and poverty
had held her captive with iron hands ; not for her had
been the heedless games of childhood ; and so she had
been ripening before her time towards the serious things
of life. How briskly now her busy hands would move, if
she might listen to the bird's bright singing all the while.

So sweetly befooled, she followed the teasing little
creature as it flew lightly on ahead through the spicy
evening air, never guessing how all this wandering to and
fro must hurt the poor lassie's little wounded feet Often
did its feathers seem to her of clearest azure, then again
dark red like glowing carbuncles, or shining green like
emeralds that one may see through; at times even, he

33^ WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

looked quite black, and only on his breast there gleamed
the loveliest tints ! But soon she lost all sense and feeling,
and fell exhausted on the wood's soft moss. Deep silence
reigned around ; only the rivulet sang in the distance,
and the wind lightly toyed with the ruddy gold crowns
of the fresh-leafed oak-trees. The bird himself had with-
drawn to the thicket, and snugly tucked his head away
beneath his wing.

Then a splendid dream arose in our poor little maiden's
soul. She saw the pretty golden stars come down from
heaven, as if to play with her ; and as she looked, lo !
they were children like herself and others. Only they had
tiny golden wings, and such beautiful big eyes, much more
beautiful than even the loveliest children have ; and who-
ever looked into them became quite well, no matter wAiU
had ailed him ! Some of these children had dazzling deep-
blue eyes, like Joy herself when she comes down to men ;
others were darker, and seemed both grave and pitiful,
like Mercy when she looks on the woe of the miserable.
But all of them embraced and danced in wondrous rings,
and figures past her understanding, while unseen harmonies
made music for it all. Our little girl knew the sounds,
had heard them once before, and they made her more
happy than tongue can tell !

These large-eyed children of the sky had lovely play-
things, all made of purest silver, that never broke however
carelessly they handled them. Soon one of them came
close to her, offered her its toy, and held out its little hand
to lead her away. She tried to rise, but all in vain : her
limbs felt as heavy as if they had been bound to the earth
with chains ; she could stir neither hand nor foot. " Give me
thy little wing," begged she softly, and the child-angel
loosed one from its shoulder there and then, to give her.
Already her two little hands were stretched out to take it,

FROM HER TO fflM 339

her eyes were turned toward Heaven : it stood wide open —
glory and splendour streamed down from a thousand
sparkling suns, while hymns of God resounded to eternal
blessedness and everlasting peace. " Ah ! " she sighed, " Up
there ! how happy I should be up there, with all the saints !
But mother would grieve if I did not come home ; and
who would there be to take care of her, and keep her
when she grows old?" A tear fell from her eyes, hot
and heavy; then — she gave the little wing back. Heaven,
angels, singing, all had gone, and sobbing she awoke.

On the ground lay the little basket, its withered flowers
overturned. In haste she picked it up, and ran off as
fast as her feet would carry her. Without thinking, she
struck the pathway to the cottage. A sudden rustling
among the bushes in front made her heart beat high ; — alas !
it was only a grey sparrow, whose simple twitter chirped
its morning-hymn to the Creator!

The Swan

The apple-trees were white. With snow? Well, with
flower-snow ! God looked down at His work, as on the
seventh day of Creation, and found it good. The azure-
blue Heaven gazed on the sweet-smelling flower-decked
Earth, and a happy smile came over his face as he saw
his faithful likeness far below in the depths of the sea.
He felt mightily drawn toward the cool water, like Narcissus
to his never-to-be-won Beloved, and he could not leave
off looking at his image, hanging over it with endless longing
and pain. Often does he weep from deep emotion, and
his tear-drops trouble the beloved picture in the depths.
Then furious anger seizes him, the sapphire pillars of the
vault of heaven tremble, terrible furrows gash his glorious

340 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

face, his eyes flash fire, and the firmament rumbles with
the thunder of his voice. Then he casts his nets of gold
toward the desired one, and in a thousand gleaming hues
a golden bridge arises o'er the waters.

At even, when the golden stars and silver moon adorn
the sky*s dim garment, the watchful sun shuts close his
eye, that he may not behold himself in all his majesty ; for
were that possible, 'twould be the end of the poor earth ;
no power could hold him back from her, and his fierce
ardour must destroy her. So, never have they met ; they
have but looked at one another, and each has borne the
other's secret in their breast. And that is why so many
a gift of Heaven lies hidden in the deep, deep sea. Seldom
is a mortal told about them, because he is a chatterbox ;
only the swans are in the nixies* confidence as well as man's,
and what they know thereof they trust it to a song. But
the song only tells it to such as ought to know it ; to all
the rest it says just nothing. But I once knew a swan,
and from him I've gotten all I know.

The Lord of the Worlds once sent the swan to guard
that likeness in the deep, to say and sing of His longing
and love. His lordly plumage He formed from the incense
of the divine spirit, from morning-fragrance and sea-foam.
Proudly arching his dazzling neck, the swan glides up the
silver stream, and many a lovely song flows from his breast
His hurrying foot ploughs furrows in the crystal surface,
and friendly little ripples gaily dance around him, skipping
and foaming in their teasing play. When their pranks
become too rough for him, he broadens out his mighty
wings above the waters, the wavelets quake back in their
terror, and the god's Beloved trembles in the depth.

One day he saw a child upon the shore. It was building
little huts of sand, as busily as if its play were very serious
work. First he looked at the child, then at her game. The

FROM HER TO HIM 34 1

little one would not let that disturb her in the slightest,
nor even seemed to notice him. Once their eyes did meet —
but then she went on playing as if quite alone. That look
had sunk in both their hearts, though, and clove so firm
that never could they pluck it out.

From that time forth the swan came often to the spot
where the little one played on the shore ; he found more
and more pleasure in the child's innocent ways and simple
charm. Ere long he could hardly tear himself away, and
only with a sigh would he return at evening to his lonely
watch upon the darksome waters, then hasten back at earliest
dawn to that dear spot to which his soul seemed chained.
The maiden scarcely wondered at his presence ; she fancied,
so it must be and never could be else. Had she not seen
the golden sun ascend each day, that sank from sight on
yester-eve ? Did not the sky, whose features lowering clouds
had almost turned into a stranger, yet always clear again
to friendly gaze upon the earth? Unsullied joy beamed
from her deep-blue eyes, and her unfearing little heart would
rock itself in sweet content.

The swan oft brought her sea-shells filled with ivory
foam, or purple corals, glistening roses of the deep ; at
parting he would often leave a snow-white plume behind ;
and she would deck herself with them and clap her little
hands for joy to see how fine she looked. But when he
told her of the marvels he had seen on distant journeys —
the ways and customs of strange peoples, — proud cities
rising from the sea, — the colours of all countries rippling
from swift masts, — the heaven's beauty and that glorious
image of it in the deep, whose guardian he himself had
been elect — then, then she would forget her play, her eyes
would hang upon his lips, and to her it seemed that all
these wonders were arising from her own child-soul, and
she were roaming with him on the billows' glassy paths.

342 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

He shewed her next the pure and noble pearl, trans-
figured symbol of dumb griefs, and taught her all the
difference twixt true and false. And then she grew more
trustful toward him, stole her arm round his white neck,
stroked down its glossy feathers, and nestled her wee head
beneath his wing's soft down. All at once he felt as if
he thus must carry her away, and never let her leave him
any more. How wearisome the cold far-off Beloved of
the Sky appeared to him ; how foolish now, for aye to
guard her! "O," in his impious arrogance he cried to the
All-ruler, "Come down from Thy golden throne, come
down to men, and learn from them of love and happiness !
Thy bride is cold and feelingless as Thou ; guard her
Thyself, since none will rob Thee of her ! "

Hurrying breezes sped his words aloft to the great
Father of all worlds. In burning wrath He hurled His
thunderbolt against the dauntless heart of His best-loved
singer. Whereon the air grew full of wailing, earth
shuddered, and the sun hid his weeping face beneath
the sea.

The swan let fall his dying head on the maiden's lap,
and singing he passed away. Dyed red with his blood
were her bosom and cheek, as she tenderly bent over
him, and their souls became one in the ebb of life's last
breath.

When the Lord of Creation beheld what He had done,
grief seized Him for his favourite. He sent His messengers
— an angel-host — to gather up the swan's white feathers
to trim His garment's starry hem. The child was never
seen again.

FROM HER TO fflM 343

Her Letters
1.

I have pitied you so often in this hot weather, for it
must indeed be stifling in Paris. Perhaps you are taking
refuge again in the Bois de Boulogne, only one has to pay
for even that by some exertion. It is really beautiful
now on this green hill, and the moonlight nights are
lovely past compare. It is long since we had such a
summer ; it really makes one feel quite superstitious, and
almost afraid to go to bed lest everything should have
changed before the morning.

Last week we made a little excursion with the children
to Baden-Weiler, the ancestral home of the Princes of
Zehringen. It is an hour by rail from Basle, and already
bears quite the physiognomy of the little Baden land
below ; fine nut-trees, woodlands, hills, pastures, and in
the distance the silver ribbon of the Rhine. I suppose
that will be something like your future home ; pleasant,
quiet and lonesome, I almost fear too lonesome, as far as
concerns the society of refined, intellectual, artistic people ;
there Paris spoils one. Lessing is a taciturn, almost over-
modest creature, whose strongest passion is hunting ;
Schirmer is simply primitive ; the Grand Duke ? — but you
must know him better than I. Our German princesses
are mostly brought up in very homely fashion ; they learn
to keep house, that is to say, to eke out their pocket-
money, and touch us by their simple unassuming manners.
The Grand Duchess, however, has attractive features. Her
portrait hangs on the wall of the Roman Bath at Baden-
Weiler, together with the Duke's, in a gold frame ; whilst
the former reigning couple have to content themselves with
a plain black one, hung in a corner. Perhaps in fifty years
or so the young people may be advanced in their turn
to the black frame, while a new star shines in the gold

344 WAGNER TO MATHBLDE WESENDONCK

one, and the grandparents have utterly vanished. It was
quite a picture of the age.

Last Saturday there was a concert in the Frau Miinster-
Kirche ; Papa Heim conducted, but was unequal to his task.
Schmidt of Vienna sang an air from the Creation ; a grand
voice, that stays clear and distinct even in the softest
passages ; he must make a splendid Konig Heinrich
[Lokengrifi]. His powerful physique also pleased me, and
it seems at least made for endurance, for he is eternally
singing, now here, now there ; but his programme is terrible,
calculated for none but the most commonplace audience.
A portion of Gluck's Orpheus and Euridice was given, and
greatly moved me. Most lovely is that passage where
Orpheus goes down into Hades, and the spirits of the nether
world thunder out at him their cries of No ! No ! while
the harp-strains glide so sweetly and softly between them,
teaching us to trust in the ultimate triumph of the beautiful.
I should very much like to hear the whole opera some
day.

Frau Dr. Wille came into town for the concert, and
spent the night with us. She gave me many kind messages
for you, and I presented her with the Rhein-Gold. Sunday
morning we breakfasted on the north terrace and chatted a
great deal about you. Keller, Dr. Wille, Kochly and his
wife came to lunch, also old Fraulein Ulrich, whom you may
perhaps remember ; we are very fond of the old lady, with
her original ways. — How I chatter! But perhaps it may
cheer my friend up, or even recall old times to him. He
knows a great deal, but thank God he does not know what
grey hairs mean yet ; ebb and flow, light and shade, that is
youth. A greybeard has no moods such as you describe in
your last letter,* and do not we know that they come and

* See the signature of no. Ii8, page 272.

FROM HER TO HIM 345

go? That is my comfort. As I sit here on the balcony
and write, the mountains are glowing rose-red in the
sunset ; would I could fix a reflection of their tender gleam
on this little page, and waft it into your soul !

I am so glad you are going to Weimar ; for all that,
Liszt is the one man nearest to you ; do not let him fall
from his place in your heart I always remember a lovely
remark of his : " I value people by what they are to
Wagner." As for Vienna, we will see if fortune favours us :
at least it is pleasant to think of. I have just heard for
the first time from the Princess [C. Wittgenstein] from
Rome. She frequents none but the Nazzarenes there,
the Christian, churchy painters. That serves her purpose,
which she is carrying through with iron resolution, altho'
she must be frightfully ennuy6 with it all. Apart from
Cornelius and Ovcrbeck there is not much pleasure to be
found amongst them ; of course I am referring to living
artists.

And now to beg a favour, which you shall grant me when
occasion allows. I have had a little photographic album
given to me, and have already several likenesses of friends in
it, carte-de-visite size like my own ; in a few seconds one
can get a dozen taken. Now of course I possess your large
photograph, but the little book would so like to have one
too, and the place for it remains vacant ; you will not deny
the little book its whim? It will be very patient, and the
Child will be patient too, and not worry the Master with
writing for it ; he must only do it when he wants to, for if
he always consulted the Child I fear he would have enough
to do. Meanwhile she is trying to harden herself by
strengthening baths, but they are somewhat exhausting, and
seem to steal away the little strength remaining to her.
Nevertheless a good result is promised.

Now it has grown dusk, the mountains stand pale and

346 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

lifeless over there, and all is very still. Peace, Peace, may
the blessedest peace descend on your heart also !

Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.
June 24. 61.

Next morning. Last week the Pasha of Egypt came
up here, and afterwards went on to the Burkli terrace, where
they played the Pilgrims* chorus and Evening-star a few-
minutes later. The sounds came across to me quite plainly.
— Sulzer is back at Winterthur, making a pause in his cure.
While he was looking at the pictures I was doubtful about
his eyesight ; but later on, in the garden, when he wanted
to distinguish some very large flowers on an evergreen,
he was obliged to use double glasses. I was very sorry,
for the flowers are light blue, and stand out most distinctly
from the glossy green of the leaves. — Now one more good
wish ! Is this not a real gossipy letter !

Your last lines made me feel very sad ; * for a long time
I could not answer them. The thought of our meeting in
Vienna had grown so familiar, that at last I felt perfectly
sure of it. To tell you the truth, for ever so long I did
not believe in it ; and now when faith had come at last,
I have to give it up again ! What we leave in the hands of
the future, is taken from us for the moment, perhaps for
ever ; the moment is our very own, but who can tell what
the dim Mother hides in her dark bosom ? — Foreseeing the
difficulties that might confront the birth of a Tristan,
it was chiefly our meeting that lay in my mind ; and

* A letter, now missing, that must have come between nos. 123 and
124. [Moreover, Frau Wesendonck herself clearly sent two letters be-
tween this and the one last-printed ; see pp. 275 and 281. — Tr.]

FROM HER TO HIM 347

had we known that you would only stay such a short
time in Vienna, we should certainly have come sooner.
It was not to be !

But now I cannot rest. We will go and waylay the
Mother where she still is awake ; Otto and I intend start-
ing for Venice on Monday.^ We shall not stay there long,
however; in a fortnight, or three weeks at most, we shall
be back again. It will strengthen, refresh, and stimulate us^
before the winter sets in, as I hoped Vienna would have done.
For, even if life does appear an idyl here and there, a proper
gaze would soon find out the material for tragedy ; * reciprocal
short-sightedness protects mankind from this discovery.
Then "seeing" is painless in itself, but '* being" always
painful ; you worshipper of Schopenhauer, you really should
know that! It follows that the people who see much and
are nothings are certainly the happiest ! And ** to be happy "
is the main thing, is it not ? To be great, to be good, to be
lovely, does not satisfy man ; he wants also to be happy, —
strange caprice! It seems to me that if one were either
of those three, he would never need the hollow, toilsome
apparatus of the other ! Yet, what do I know of it ?

There have been great changes among the notables of
this place. Gottfried Keller has been made Town Clerk
and taken possession of Reg.-R. Sulzer's old quarters in the
Chancellery. Thus the poor mother of the **grunen
Heinrich" has lived to taste the joy of seeing her son a
recipient of outward honours and dignities as well !

Moleschott, moreover, has been called to the University
of Turin as Professor of his faculty. His life here had been
entirely forlorn of late, and almost friendless.

* This clause is of great significance in connection with the close
of Wagner's letter of two months hence, page 288 ; whilst the next few
sentences are obviously ironical, and meant to convey the fact that the
writer herself is not happy. — Tr.

348 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

And last but not least [in English] your Herwegh has
received a summons to Naples, as Professor of " Comparative
Literature.** It was high time, for his affairs were perilously
near to utter ruin. Perhaps he may retrieve himself through
an honourable occupation so suited to his favourite pursuits.

The worthies here are shaking their heads over the levity
•of de Sanctis ; but for my part I am glad that a few
well-sounding names should get noised abroad for once :
It is such a very rare thing in Germany. What is sounded
there, rings mostly false, and only those whom people do
not talk about are worth the trouble.

What will be the next tidings from my friend ? I share

with him the chagrin of his latest disappointment. Whither

will the Fates lead him next? Will a time ever come, when

he can take a rest on our green hill? Let us hope on,

altho* it seems so hopeless ! Thanks for the photograph,

and sincere affection !

Mathilde Wesendonck.
Octob. 23. 6i.

I have just been reading the sketch of the Meistersinger.*
I think it excellent, and hope you will make great use of it ;
it is full of subtle touches which may save you much extra
labour. My blessing on the resumption of this work ! I
rejoice at it as at a festival, for in Venice I hardly dared
to cherish such a hope.

You have brought to naught one silent Christmas treat
I had promised myself. You were to have received a letter
on my birthday — now it lies in Vienna ! A little box, con-
taining sundry trifles we had happened to speak about, was
to have taken you by surprise on Christmas day : I had

• That of 1845 ; see pages 290 and 364. Since letter "2 " Wagner had
paid his visit to Venice. — Tr.

FROM HER TO HIM 349

prepared all this with so much pleasure, working at it with
such haste and eagerness, in the secret fear lest it should
not be ready until too late ; and now I shall probably receive
it back from Vienna ere long! —

The translation of Cervantes is a most valuable find.
I conclude that the manuscript is beyond suspicion ? It
would certainly be difficult to imitate Cervantes plausibly
[cf. p. 286].

Thank you so much for your kind letter [no. 124], which
at least brought your handwriting back to me, altho' I
could not quite recognise my friend's usual exalted mood.

And now receive sincerest wishes and regards

From your

Mathilde Wesendonck.
Decbr. 25. 61.

I have been dipping into the biography of Schopenhauer,*
and felt indescribably attracted by his personality, which has
so much that is akin to your own. An old longing came
back to me, to look into that inspiredly beauteous eye
for once — that deep mirror of Nature which is the common
heritage of genius. I recalled to mind our personal com-
mune ; before me I saw the whole rich world you yourself
had unlocked to the childlike mind ; my gaze clung with
rapture to the magic edifice ; higher and higher throbbed
my heart with fervent gratitude ; and I felt that nothing
of all this could ever-more be lost to me! As long as
breath is in me, I shall aspire and strive on ; and that is
your doing. Schopenhauer himself you were not to know,
and your tone-creations were never unlocked to him : What
does that matter? — he would smilingly exclaim to-day —

* W. Gwinner, " Schopenhjiuer aus persOnlichem Umgang dargestellt,''
Leipzig 1862.

350 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

We two belong to the Whole ; an eye that looks on loneli-
ness is our [joint earthly] lot !

The book contains an excellent portrait, in which the
crass assertion of photography is beautified and transfigured
by the spiritual might of the man himself.

Some day when you leave Paris to come nearer to me,

I shall enjoy sharing a book with you, at least now and

then, without having to trouble you to go to the embassy

for it* My poor little box has come back to me, and I

have set it dolefully aside. When once you settle down

somewhere, I shall certainly smuggle things into your house

again, as surely as the goblins pursued the poor peasant!

— How fares it with the health — and with the work?

Yours in her heart !

Mathilde Wesendonck.
Jan. 1 6. 62.

The winged lion on your desk has woken up ; { spirit
and strength are his symbol. He shakes the troubled dream
from his limbs, and tosses his mane ; that gladdens me,
and I will think of nothing else. Let what comes from
without be left to Fate ; within dwells the foe, in one's own
breast. —

Scarcely ever, so it seems to me, has the fountain of
your poetry gushed forth with greater copiousness and
originality, than this time. Also, it is but a kind of justice
to yourself, to give that indestructible deep Humour, so

• *' Ohne Sie aiif das Ministerium zu bemQhen " — clearly the Austrian
embassy in Paris, official residence of the Metternichs (cf. p. 285), to which
there is reason to believe that Zurich packets had been addressed during
the past twelvemonth or so. — Tr.

t See pages 20, 74, 80 and 118.

X A Venetian letter-weight with the Lion of San Marco, a present
from Frau Wesendonck.

■^

FROM HER TO HIM 35 1

considerable an ingredient in your character, its due pre-
ponderance for once. Together with his brother Amor,
the little boy-god has come down from the heights of
Glympus to the human heart ; and only where the one
was glad to stay, would the other enter in.

I feel as though I had climbed a high hill, and were gazing
at a wondrous evening-glow, the Hymn of all Creation !

Greeting and farewell !
Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.
[Feb.*] 19. 62,

I knew it well : dreams do come true [p. 305]. The more
reality withdraws from us, the more do dreams keep watch.
May Heaven still send you many such a dream !

Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.
Decbr. 23. 62.

Lay these leaves among the others in the green portfolio !
I will write shortly ; in the meantime I let myself be nursed
and cared for, like a sick child. My kind regards to the
doctor [Standhartner ?].

Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.
July 3. 63.

* The German edition gives the month as *' Jan.," but that cannot well
be, as the letter most plainly refers to the completed Meistersinger poem.
On the other hand, if Feb. 19 be the correct date, only a fragment of the
original can have been preserved ; see page 300. — Tr.

352 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

7a.*

Mir erkoren — [CAosen for me —

Mir verloren — Riven from me —

Ewig geliebtes Herz. Ever beloved heart.

Cf. Tristan u. Isolde.]

Hast heard the nightingales' enraptured singing,
while o'er the trees her garlands May was flinging ;
but when sad Autumn doubtful days is bringing,
no little bird dare set its song a-ringing.
The mountain-peaks that high as heaven are winging,
their chill renunciant silence them enringing,
flush red, thou seest, in mute despair close-clinging,
when nears the goddess in sun-chariot swinging.
O question not, reluctant answer wringing !
Much have I borne of fortune's bitter slinging,
but This my lips' close lock shall ne'er be springing —
'tis why my songs so sorrowfully I'm stringing.

What chalice holds the radiant shine
of all the great gold sun ?

And thou so small, O heart of mine,
yet wouldst confine
earth's joy of all, in one ?

Sweet love's infinity
shut in a cell, —

and heaven's eternity
by life's dream tell ?

* It is to be assumed, of course, that these verses were written at
variotis dates within the past eighteen months or so (e.g. the one
un-sent for his birthday), though all despatched together. Their printed
arrangement, also, may not entirely correspond with their order of origin ;
yet the " nightingale " poem would seem, from its contents, to be really
among the earliest of the series. — W. A. E.

FROM HER TO HIM 353

In the heart that is sad and weary
there sobs a depth of woe,
as bitter and black and dreary
as the sea, in its deep, deep flow.

And sighs like the winds are moaning
now here, and now there, o'er the floods,
where memory's light, atoning,
as tender as evening broods.

While hope like a boat is sailing,
by longing drawn back to shore,
amid the wild breakers quailing,
she fareth home never more.

When dark grief with overshadowing pinion
fearsome on thy trembling spirit sinks,
and a- weary of the ever-changing,
thy strest soul its every chain unlinks ;
from thine eye Illusion's veil has fallen,
and thine Eden flies from thee like foam ;
while from graves the pallid ghosts are stalking,
and things real seem but dreams a-roam ;
all existence fades to empty show.
Being figures but as Not-being*s foe —
real alone thy heart-throbs then remain,
with their e'er-aflirming sobs of pain.

On the 22nd May 63.
Dwells a soul both strong and fair
prisoned in the blossom there,
that with all her being's care
lives and weaves in sunlit air ;

354 WAGNER TO MATHELDE WESENDONCK

that with ever tireless strife
one thing seeks — a fair flower-life ;
that, altho' the golden sun
thousand sister heads hath kissed,
envies not each happy one,
flowers toward the light she missed :
him alone her fair face turns to,
him alone her sweet breath yearns to ;
and — if he forget her quite —
shuts her gentle eyes and light,
lays her little flower-head low,
breathes one sigh — grows silent so.

Heart, what woe couldst thou endure,
wert but as a flower pure ?

A deep deep grave I fashioned

and laid my love therein,

with all my hope and yearning,

tears that mine eyes were burning,

joy, grief, and all akin.

And when they eath slept soundl}',

I laid myself therein.

You can well believe, Friend, how heavily your momentous
letter [no. 138] has weighed upon my heart to-day! But I do
not grudge the cares you thus prepare me, for I most gladly
suff*er with you ; my whole nature feels ennobled by per-
mission to share your griefs. However mournfully these
written symbols gaze at me when I ask them for their
meaning, yet how dear and friendly is their glance when
I remind myself, they come from him, and were written

FROM HER TO HIM 355

just for thee! Friend, I am afraid you might say much
harm to me, and I should still be fond of you ! —

You " joy-unholpen man" (^^ freudehelf closer Mann'') —
an expression I noticed once in Walther v. d. Vogelweide,*
and promptly in my secret heart applied to you ; whoever
could help you, would indeed be fortunate ! My head swims
when I think of all the misery which haunts you ; with the
exception of a few fine moments like that perilous " good
one" you describe to me so charmingly [p. 319], and which
fall to your lot more than to anyone else's. Fate still remains
your debtor. I know this, and grieve for it with all my
soul, yet can find no empty word of consolation, because
I have no hope it ever can be otherwise. I need not tell
you how terrible it is to me, to see you thus hunted round
the world for the sake of giving concerts ; were the sky
itself to re-echo the crowd's acclamations, it could never
make up for your sacrifice. I follow your so-called *' triumpJis "
with bleeding heart, and turn almost bitter when people
hold them up to me as something to be thankful for. All
I feel then, is how little people really know, that is to say
understand you ; and — then I also feel — that I do know —
and love you ! — But how little can one person do, against
the thousand-headed monster that calls itself the world ;
one might shed one's heart's blood to its last drop, and yet
not win one tiny morsel of affection from it So it is, and
so no doubt it was before us.

The portfolio and lamp are not to cumber your Asyl ;
they shall become "Wanderers" like yourself, when once
you leave it. But, supposing you wished to get rid of this
Asyl later on, would it be so very difficult to do so?
Have you bought, or merely rented it? And do you
not think that a residence so close to Vienna, even if only

* Lachmann's edition, p. 54, 1. 37.

356 WAGNER TO MATMLDB WBSENDONCK

for sound of the thing, is useful and desirable for you in
artistic respects? My heart, indeed^ is ever calling you
back to Switzerland ; but then this heart of mine is
egoistic, and ought not to be listened to. Putting that
first one aside, would am Asyl in Switzerland be out of
the question? Until now my tears have guarded that
against other inmates ; only I despair of being able to do
morCy for the immediate future.

With regard to musical conditions at Zurich, you would
find a nucleus in the Orchestral Union there, i.e. a
permanent band of 50 strongs which furnishes the service
of the theatre, the highly respectable Musik-Gesellschaft,
and Garden^oncerts without number, under a conductor
named Fichtelberger, who perspiring manages to beat a
Beethovenian Symphony to pieces. Papa Heim, who formerly
belonged to the malcontents (be it said en parenth^se), has
since been elected to the Committee, and is so proud of
his new dignity that he plays the paternal monarch, i.e.
is pleased with everything. Besides this society, the
Heisterhagen and Eschmann Quartet still flourishes, in
which a young man named Hilpert, apparently quite
musical, has taken the place of Schleich. Should you
seriously propose to favour us with a musical performance
conducted by yourself, I would suggest that you have a
nice long rest on the green hill, allow yourself to be taken
care of by the Child, and then and there discuss the
future.

You tell me nothing about your work, except that the
portfolio is filling up. And I am to let you drink your
tea out of strange teacups ? Cruel man, to grudge me the
pleasure of sending you a new tea-set! Do you not know
that my only consolation for sudi ^oomy letters is the
power of satisfying your little wants? You might leave
me this one satisfaction \

FROM HB3BL TO HIM. 357

When I am back in Zurich I will get a little dog
and train Jt ; and then, when it has grown very fond of me,
you shall have it — nicht wahr?

I leave early on Sunday, perhaps for a few days yet
at Homburg, where Otto is taking a " Silence-cure," and
we hope to be home again toward the end of next week.
If Switzerland should prove beyond your reach in course
of the next two or three months, we will come to Vienna
or wherever you like. I will not write about your accident,
except to say Thank God your life was spared !

It has grown late, and I am writing in haste — but I
could not stay silent, it made me too miserable. May
you be feeling brighter when you receive this! And now
my sincerest remembrances ; I am and shall remain your
friend. We will loyally stand fast

Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.

[Schwalbach] August 9 * 63.

To share each other's joys and sorrows, is still a
blessing left us!

Septbr. 23. 63.
Otto has been laid up for three weeks with rheumatic
fever and inflammation of the muscles, and I am nursing
him day and night, without, however, having gained much
ground as yet His condition is most painful, and com-
plicated by many ups and downs — also, I am afraid, very
lingering. Griesinger will be called in consultation tomorrow,
and I am hoping great things from his skill. Under these

* Probably this is meant for " 19/' as the 9th of August, 1865, was
itself a Sunday (see line 4 above). — Tr.

358 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

circumstances you will understand, Friend, why I was
silent. The misery of your state of mind chilled my
blood itself; I felt that I was helpless there. I was to
tell myself forsooth, that all the gifts of Nature, even the
most glorious, are squandered if uncrowned by empty
external success ; that they are nugatory in and for
themselves, and he who owns them above others, possesses
but the right to greater wretchedness ! It made me almost
bitter, to think you would have me believe that; my
religion and my belief (which really are one and the same)
are vowed to nothing save the Thing in itself I cannot
understand at all, how anybody can at once scorn and
seek what people call success, i.e. applause. Only the
sage, methinks, who asks nothing from the world, should
venture to despise it ; the man who uses it, becomes its
accomplice by mere contact with it, and can no longer be
its judge. You are at once a knower and accomplice in
the last degree : you rush at every new illusion, apparently
to sweep from your breast the disappointment of its pre-
decessors; and yet no one knows better than yourself,
that it never can or will be. Friend, how is this to end?
Are not fifty years experience enough, and should the
moment not arrive at last, when you will come to full agree-
ment with yourself? —

To-day I have received your welcome message,* which
has done me infinite good, and I now can pluck up heart
again to believe in your coming. What sincere joy it
will give me, to prepare you a nice quiet rest ! In
Switzerland the autumn days are often very beautiful, and
even in winter it is most pleasant in this home of ours.
Should Otto's illness drag on longer than expected — which

* Between this sentence and the last, she dearly had received his
letter of the 20th.— Tr.

FROM HER TO fflM 359

Heaven forbid ! — ^would it perhaps be possible for you to
keep the Christmas holidays with us? Meanwhile I hope
with all my heart, both for your sake and our own, that it
[i€. your coming] may be earlier.

Greeting and love
from Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.

10.

Your "yesterday's," to which you refer, unfortunately
has not reached me, but I thank you for yours of to-day.

[See p. 324.]

I am hoping to see you soon in Zurich, whether before
or after the Carlsruhe performances. Our patient is getting
better day by day ; still, we are entering the 8th week
now, and his strength returns but slowly. Nevertheless
we are hoping that this crisis may have paved the way
for a beneficial change in Otto's general health, which long
had left much to be desired ; and in that we are supported
by the verdict of the doctors.

Now, auf Wiedersehen in good earnest, and greetings
from all the heart of

Your
Mathilde Wesendonck.

Octob. 20. 63.

11.

Octob. 27. 63.

Dear Friend,
I am more and more possessed by the thought that
we soon shall see you in our midst, and it will be a real
sabbath of the heart to me, to make your stay as pleasant
as possible. I believe our home contains the elements of
a familiar fellowship, without g^ne or other sacrifice for

360 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

individuals : la vie est une science, says a clever Frenchman,
a science that has to be studied. At times a calm comes
o'er the sea, the heavens shew no cloud ; and so in human
life cire intervals when Fate seems to be holding its breath.
May such an interval be ours !

What I so sincerely wish and try for, is such a very
little thing that perhaps it will only draw a smile from
you. It is at least to see you with us once a-year, and
so at home that every nook and cranny in the house is
quite familiar, and the children don't grow strangers to you.
I have constantly striven to keep fresh in their memory
your former living with us, and to this day the children
only know the Asyl by the name of Uncle Wagner's garden.
The idea of seeing it fall into strange hands had long
distressed me, but I am at last beginning to feel safe
about that ; for the little house has now been included with
the rest, and is treated as belonging to the larger plot by
way of kitchen-gardens and the like ; and again, because
part of the lower storey has been converted into Carl's
schoolroom and his tutor's room. In this way the chalet
comes under my special care, and I have been given the
duty of guarding it from decay or dilapidation. I need
hardly tell you that even this affords me a sort of melancholy
pleasure ; you yourself know only too well what a solace
the heart seeks in such things, — things which in themselves
are nothing, and the crowd so readily calls "useless," yet
where all is of weight to the heart. That ever retains its
ideal, in which the world has neither part nor lot ; it opens
to a golden key, and has vanished when the world imagines
it has locked it fast.

I do hope I shall soon hear about you and your plans !
The lovely iridescent autumn days are over now, and fix)sty
friend Winter stands without the door ; within, however,
all grows warm and bright. Otto's recovery goes on as

FROM HER TO HIM 361

fast as we could wish, and I hope the last traces of his illness
will soon have disappeared entirely. Keep up your courage
also, and hold in affectionate heart

Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.

12.

To the Black Horse at Prague I send you a kind
greeting : I read your brochure yesterday, and could not
help laughing, it seemed to me such utter irony [cf. p. 325].
Be sure you send me from there the programme of your
performances ; the last thing which reached me from Prague
bore the motto of the Faust-symphony.* Much in human
life is doomed to oblivion, very little is unforgetable, but
according to that little is determined the whole worth of
existence itself. "To be, or not to be," is the question
here also, and the cross is ever laid on the " to be."

I would very gladly come to Carlsruhe, but Otto's
strength is not quite re-established ; he can bear so little
yet, that we avoid all excitement Nevertheless, perhaps
it may be possible between this and the 14th ; he displays a
wish for it himself.

And now my sincerest regards to you, and prepare

yourself for the green portfolio ; I hope we shall succeed

in providing you with quiet If you should care to bring

one of your flock with you, such as Biilow or Cornelius,.

he will be equally welcome. I trust the green hill will

grow dear to you once more !

Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.
Sunday Evening

[November i (?) 1863].

* Meaning "overture/' which had been played there last February;
in 1855 he had rejected the idea of dedicating it to herself, on account of
this same depressing " motto." — ^Tr.

362 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK

13.

Every scrap of your news, beloved Friend, is a thought
from you to me, and as such, the dearest greeting my heart
could desire ; so, many thanks for each communication,
however short [cf. p. 326]. Between us, indeed, it needs but
a token now, as it were a visible bond to lead us through
life, in presence of the infinity of that world-of-feeling
to which we both belong. The weft of the mysterious
weaver who intertwined the threads of our mutual fate is
not to be unravelled, but only to be torn asunder ; " Wisst
Ihr, wie das ward ! — " *

I understand the gloom, the exhaustion you are feeling,
and know what it must cost you to go to Russia. Nowhere
can I find rescue or counsel, alas! for, altho' I wildly
rack my brains, no light will come ; so I would rather
be silent, than try to comfort you with empty words of
hope in which I have no belief myself. It is humanity's
most mournful lot, to recognise an ill without the power
to root it up ; 'tis born with us, and like a leprous malady
we pass it on against our will.

It was a pleasure to me to hear that you had met
Frau V. Bissing [Frau wiiie's sister] at Lowenberg and Breslau ;
blessed are those who do good upon earth ! They are in
truth the only blessed ! — Our friend [Frau Wille ?] has
just left me ; she stayed the night here, and we chatted of
oe'er-to-be-forgotten happy hours.

Father Christmas has also been here ; he said he was
going to Vienna, to deck a friend's snug dwelling. I
thought that very nice of him, and should dearly like to
have kept him company. However, Father Christmas has
a special privilege over all the world ; so I only bade him

* From the Norns-scene Gdtierd&mmerung^ a motto long since
4ised by Wagner, in another tense, for the " Album Sonata '' dedicated to
frau Wesendonck (see Life \\\ 131). — Tr.

FROM HER TO HIM 363

be sure he went to the right man's house, and gave him his
address. Now he begs a kindly welcome.

The children are brimful of anticipation. The tree is
to be lit in the dining-room, surrounded by a glory of
Raphaels ; the effect will be quite fine.

Remember me to Cornelius, and do not forget

Your

Mathilde Wesendonck.
Decbr. 21. 63.

14.

My Friend,

In a letter received to-day, Frau v. Billow asks for some
of your literary manuscripts which are in my possession. I
have looked through the portfolio, but of course I cannot
think of sending anything away, unless at your personal
wish. As it is hardly possible that you will remember
which strayed leaves and leaflets are gathered in my port-
folio, I am sending you a list of the whole contents ; will
you please tell me whether and what I am to forward.

I conclude, of course, that you are aware of the pro-
jected publication of your works by his Majesty [cC p. 328].
I was so very glad to see from the amiable lady's lines
that you are well, and have gathered your dear ones
round you.

And now with greetings from my heart, and hoping to
be affectionately remembered.

Yours

Mathilde Wesendonck.

January 13. 6$.

Paris Period

Der FreischiitZ. {Prose Works yW^I

On German Music. {Ibidcm:\

364 WAGNER TO MATHDLDE WESENDONCK

Caprices esth6tiques ; from the diary of a dead musician

[Probably **The Virtuoso and the Artist," which originally
appeared in the Gazette Musicak as " Fantaisie esth^tique d'un
musiden " ; see P, W, VII.— Tr.]

A Pilgrimage to Beethoven, weighty recollections from

the life of a German Musician ;
A Pilgrimage to Beethoven (Conclusion). {ibUem.^
How a poor Musician came to grief in Paris : tale

[" An End in Paris," «5za:]

A Happy Evening. [/^«/.]

Queen of Cyprus (Abendzeitung) ;

Queen of Cyprus (continuation). Xlhid,^

Rossini's Stabat Mater (Zeitschrift f. Musik). \.nnd,-\

Revue critique, Gazette musicale. [** Pergolesi's Stabat Mater" ;
ibid:\

Die Feen. Grand romantic opera in 3 acts. — *

Der Venusberg, romantic opera in 3 acts ; draft

\Tannhdu5er,'\

Draft for Wieland the Smith IProse Works I.]

* It should be observed that from this point forward Frau Wesen-
donck's classification into "periods" is wholly inadequate, and for the
greater part incorrect. Most of the contents, excepting the *' drafts," have
been incorporated in Wagner's Gestwimelte Schriften; of the remainder
only the " letters ** remain unclear, especially the enigmatic " Siegfried's
Brief," which I can but imagine to be a lapsus calami for that concept
of a letter to Schopenhauer reproduced p. 76 sup. At Frau Wesendonck's
death the only item still preserved among her papers was the Meisier'-
singer draft of 1845 ; the rest had merely been "taken care of" by her,
as we may gather from Wagner's letter of June 1871 (at which date
he was publishing vol. ii of the Ges, Schr.)f and undoubtedly were
restored in course of time to Wahnfried — after being returned to her
in the interval between his last two printed letters. The Tristan
sketches etc., and those for the first three members of the I^ing des
Nihelungen^ together with the 186 1-2 manuscript of the Meistersinger
poem, were former presents to Frau Wesendonck, and therefore not
included in her list. Of special interest in the above are the drafts etc.
for the Ring poem, which it is to be hoped may soon be given to the
world.— Tr.

FROM HER TO HIM 365

Draft for the Young Siegfried.

The Young Siegfried, (poem).

Draft for Siegfried's Tod.

Siegfried's Tod I. (poem). iProse Worki viii.]

Preface to Siegfried's Tod.

Siegfried's Tod 1 1, (poem). [Gotterdammerun^f]

The Saga of the Nibclungs. [" Nibdungen Myth," P.w, vil.]

Das Rheingold (draft).

Das Rheingold (poem).

Die Walkiire (draft).

Die Walkiire (poem). .

Letter on the Goethestiftung, to Liszt — [Prose Works ill.]

Siegfried's letter. — [? i]

To Herr von Ziegesar. [A lettei^ooncept ?]

On a Zeitschrift f. Musik. [" Oa Musical Criticism," P. W. III.]

Dresden Period

Draft for Lohengrin.

Art and the Revolution. [Prose Works I.]

The arts of Poetry, Sculpture etc.

Artistry of the future. [For the last two headings see •* Art-work of

the Future," Prose Works I.— Tr.]
The Genius of Community. [See " Communication,*' ibid.
Judaism in Music. [Prose Works III.]

Letter to ♦ * ♦

To the Dresden Kapelle. — [** Toast" etc., Und. vii.]

To a State-functionary (poem). [1848-9.]

Dame Want (poem). [Ditto.]

Theatre-reform (Dresdener Anzeiger Jan. 16, 49).

[Prose Works VIII.]

What relation bear Republican endeavours to the King-
ship ? (Dresdener Anzeiger). [" Vaterlandsverein** address,
ibid, IV.]

366 WAGNER TO MATHBLDE WESENDONCK

Artist and Critic, with reference to a particular case

(Dresdener Anzeiger). [/^. viii.]
Programme to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. — [/did, VII.]
Beethoven's overture to Coriolanus. [/M, ill.]
Beethoven's Heroic symphony, [/did,']
Gluck's overture to Iphigenia in Aulis. — [/^ut]
A close for Gluck's overture to Iphigenia in Aulis.

[Full score?]

Remarks for the performance of the opera " Der fliegende

Hollander." [Prose Works III.]

Draft of Die Meistersinger, comic opera in 3 acts. — C1845.]
Speech at Weber's last resting-place in the cemetery

at Dresden. iProse Works VII.]

Cantata sung at Weber's grave-side [,composed] Novbr.
10, 44, Dresden. — [/bid, ; cf. p. 331 sup,]

VALEDICTORY

(W. A. E.)

367

VALEDICTORY

Upon closing this unique correspondence, instinctively one asks
oneself : Would Wagner and Frau Wesendonck have been happier
in the long run, had they adopted the alternative suggested on
page 25 and left their respective homes together? As with alt
conjectures regarding things which might have been, one cannot
answer positively; yet I believe, such happiness might have been
possible in 1852-3 indeed, but not in 1858 and onward. Otto would
certainly have been riper for that separation in the later year ; but
— leaving aside all danger from the physical and mental condition
into which Minna had gradually fallen — the love of Richard and
Mathilde had sublimated into something too ethereal by the time
of its declaration, not to run risk of dispersion by the inevitable
shocks of daily intercourse. Besides a gifted brain and inbred tact,
it needed an unusually strong character, really to be a prop and
moderator to a genius whose ideas of practical life had become
so largely tinged with that transcendency which stamps his artworks.
In 1868 he asks his sister Clara: *' Whence could it come, that
I fashion something different from others, were I not also different
myself?" Absolute poverty, complete retirement from the world,
might have charmed him with its grand simplicity; for that, how-
ever, I doubt if Mathilde's bringing up, and more especially her
sumptuous surroundings, had well prepared her. Affluence was
unattainable by Wagner, to the end of his days : in its absence the
delicate hothouse plant might uncomplainingly have drooped and
pined away. — And later, three years later? The spiritual enact-
ment of Sawitri was very beautiful, most holy; but it could not
fit for ever with existing claims upon a matron. When Mathilde
gave it up at last against her will (p. 347) involuntarily she took
the wiser path — for her husband and herself at least.

Terrible were the perils to which she thus exposed her hero,
robbed at almost the same moment of all home in this world — for

369 24

370 VALEDICTORY

a second time — and all hope for the next. Awhile he might drown
his sorrows in a masterwork of comedy that owes its lovable chief
character, and even some traits in its heroine, to his chastened
"resignation"; just as he had told Frau Ritter close on three
years back, he was living "only since the deepest self-experienced
woe again and again presented itself as but another artwork to
be shaped.'' But sooner or later a reaction from this objectiveness
was bound to set in : for a spell he " hardly knew himself," and
the blackest of palls might have shut him in at any instant. Thrice
happy he, that then at last he found the chosen vessel of companion
gold, after an act of sacrifice that raises **good Hans" of flesh
and blood to a higher plane than ever reached by Ludwig, Liszt
or Otto : " She knew that help could be extended me, and
helped she has."

Perhaps the highest evidence of that companion vessel's true
nobility is furnished by the bare existence of the present book.
** It had been Richard Wagner's wish " — a preamble to the German
edition informs us — "that the accompanying leaves should be
destroyed. — Frau Wesendonck did not regard herself as exclusive
owner of the letters addressed to her ; she silently preserved them
for posterity, and willed their publication. — The Wagner family
renounced all author's rights, in this exceptional case, and ceded
them to the departed lady's son and grandson, who have arranged
that the Stipendiary Fund [for enabling needy artists etc. to visit]
Bayreuth shall benefit thereby." This step's impersonality is an
honour in itself to all concerned, yet it might have been easy to
devise a mode whereby the identity of the whilom owner should
have been hidden from all but an intimate few: in that such a
mode was not adopted, we have not alone another proof of the
devotion of Richard Wagner's widow to his memory, but also of
her splendid sense of justice. Only by publication in full could
vulgar slanderers, who had dared to fret Frau Wesendonck's last
span of life, be put to shame; only thus could the good name
of that sweet friend and her descendants be cleared triumphantly.
Ah yes, ye glib resuscitators of forgotten hearsay, — ye who recked
naught that your silver-haired prey was neither blind nor deaf as
yet, — when ye killed her your doom was sealed!

When death so suddenly descended on her in the month of

VALEDICTORY 371

August 1902, Mathilde Wesendonck was making ready for presenta-
tion of these letters to posterity.* Their accomplished German
editor, Prof. Dr. Wolfgang Golther, tells us that in autumn 1903
her heirs entrusted him with the precious legacy : " Frau Wesendonk
herself had partly prepared the edition, t Everything was to be
published unabridged and unaltered, and direct from the originals
that lay before me. A few letters, which I have specially noted,
only existed in Frau Wesendonk^s transcription; their originals
appear to have been lost. Merely a handful of quite immaterial
and minor omissions have boen effected, out of regard for living
persons ; omissions indicated every time by ' . . . ' The letters and
leaves were to be arranged, explained and introduced [see later]. . . .
Among them lay a few to Frau Wille and Otto Wesendonk, which
have been included as directly bearing on the rest. . . . The 14
letters by Mathilde Wesendonk are the only answers preserved."

* It is most touching, to learn from Dr. Golther's preface that the
pencilled ' composition-drafts ' of Tristan und Isolde had been carefully gone
over by Frau Wesendonck with pen and ink, to ensure their permanence ;
how we should like to know when/ They are dated by the master
himself: act. i, Oct. 1 to Dec. 31, 1857; act ii, May 4 to July i, 1858;
act iii. Lucerne, April 9 to July 16, 1859. For the first act he wrote the
verses reproduced page 17 sup,; above the second act, the words '* Noch im
Asyl " — '• Still in my haven." Only in a very few passages of the second
act did the voice-part differ from its final form, whilst the introduction
of that act began with what is now its ninth bar. — The 'orchestral
sketches,' i.e. the phase immediately before fair copy of the final score
were never among Frau Wesendonck's belongings (see p. 234), but their
dates are also given us: act i, Nov. 5, 1857, to Jan. 13, 1858; act ii,
July 5, 1858, Zurich, to March 9, 1859, Venice; act iii, May 1 to July 19,
1859, Lucerne. The last pages of the fair copy were completed Aug. 6,
'59 (P« *6i), and despatched to H&rtel's next day. — On her printed copy of
the poem, a birthday present 1858 (p. 94), Mathilde inscribed Isolde's words :
'* Mirerkoren — Mir verloren — Heil und hehr, kOhn und feig — Todgeweihtes
Haupt ! Todgeweihtes Herz ! " — The pencilled * composition-drafts * of
Rheingoldt WalkUre and the first two acts of ^iegfried^ with many a brief
personal jotting or hieroglypli on their margins, were al^o preserved by
the lady, in dainty cases of red leather; their dates will be found
elsewhere.

t Her preparation, Dr. Golther privately informs me, consisted in the
said transcription (about \ of the whole) and a few marginal notes — N.B.
Here I have respected Dr. G.'s omission of tlie '* c " from the surname
for the same reason that 1 retain it in the letters themselves, — vid, inj.

372 VALEDICTORY

What a pity it seems, that there should be no more than those
fourteen ; and how mysterious 1 Had they all been destroyed, one
could have understood it so much better, for that was the case with
Frau Charlotte von Stein's to Goethe ; she asked for them back,
and burnt them. Perhaps Frau Wesendonck did ask for hers ; but
why preserve none of earlier date than June 1861 ? Her diary of
1858, with sad infrequent letters down to the Wiedersehen of April
1859, — a begging of these back, though Wagner had once decreed
that they *' shall not be given out again " (p. 34), we could easily
understand on the eve of his departure to rejoin his wife next
autumn ; their prompt destruction also. But her letters from Rome
of winter 1859-60 : surely there can have been as little reason for
depriving us of these, as for withholding those now published.
Looked at from whichever side, I am forced to the conclusion that
Minna destroyed the whole bundle just before laudanuming Mathilde's
living present, Fips, — a doing to death so plainly hinted page 273.*
It is too long an argument to set forth here, but Minna's final
letter to her Berlin friend, of the next December, most distinctly
connects the Paris ' catastrophe ' of summer 1861 with sudden
discovery that " the pair remain in love " (see Die Gegenwart
already-cited). That terrible shadow; are we never to emerge
from it ? — Let us return to pleasanter parting thoughts.

Had Frau Wesendonck lived long enough to finish her labour of
love, I think an introduction to this correspondence would have been
written by herself. Knowing her fondness for the letters of Wilhelm
von Humboldt to his Freundin (p. 79) — most incorporeal of all
platonics — I fancy she would have taken as text the following
passage from that Freundin's preface : — " For a length of years this
correspondence was my highest boon. What I required of sympathy
and solace, of counsel and encouragement, of cheer and elevation,
and finally of knowledge and enlightenment on higher truths, I drew
from this exhaustless store that ever lay nigh to my hand. Such

• As to the ''It is presumed" on that page — which would scarcely
harmonise with the directly-preceding r&thselhaft ("mysteriously," or
" unintelligibly," ♦' inexplicably ") if Wagner meant to convey bis own
surmise — it is quite possible that the original MS. had " Vermeintlich**
i.e. "Allegedly," where the German now reads ** Vermuthlichr He had
used this " Vermeintlich " before, to Liszt (p. xxxiv J«^.), concernmg
Minna's opium-habit.

VALEDICTORY 373

a correspondence is society which leads to closer insight into
character. It cannot be a secret, the whole world might know its
contents ; but it was written to myself, and thus the ark of my life's
covenant ; so I kept in silence and concealment what was penned
for me alone, what indemnified me for serious deprivations, rewarded
me for many griefs. ... I viewed it as a never-stanching fount of
higher life, whence for long years I drew strength and courage, and
won whatever ripeness I might gain. In truth I needed for my mind
no further sustenance, for my meditation no more copious matter,
for my instruction no other book, for my soul no clearer light.
Most kindly would the noble friend subdue his powers to my
apprehension ; and thus, whatever He might talk to me about, to
me He ever was intelligible, lucid, and convincing. If we differed
at times in opinion, that difference arose from the externals of our

lives [they never met but once, a quarter of a century before]. But my SOUl's-

friend remained the guiding principle of all my spiritual life ; from
one letter to the next I lived in thought with him, and, broken
as my health was, that formed for me a thriving inner life. . . .

''For years since his death have I lived on these letters.
Plunged in my friend's ideas, and pondering withal on this unique
relation and what had thereby ripened in me for all time and all
eternity, it often seemed to me not right that so much truth, such
greatness and such goodness, should perish wholly with myself.
True, for me alone had it been written, adapted to my individual
sense; but the truths were expressed so lucidly, the sure paths to
inner calm and happiness so gently and so clearly pointed out,
that a knowledge of them must be salutary for every seeking mind.
— And all this to descend into the grave with me, with me be
turned to dust? — "

So Mathilde's legacy has been fulfilled; the wish of Richard
Wagner also, — for the originals exist no longer.

And now for the needful final word on my own humble share
in this production.

First as to the spelling of the lady's name. In face not only of
the letter facsimiled herewith and several others addressed to myself
(of no interest whatever to the public), but also of all her published
works and the volume of Wagner's letters to her husband — I
cannot bring myself to follow the example of her heirs and deprive

374 VALEDICTORY

her marriage-surname of its "c."* To my mind, such a step is
an interference with literary documents, for there can be no possible
doubt that Wagner never wrote about, or to Mathilde or her husband,
with elision of that **c"; notwithstanding that family pedigrees
now may prove the simple "k" to be the true orthography. As
Mathilde Wesendonck, then, shall she still be known at least in
England — with due apologies to her descendants.

Then as to punctuation — by which I do not mean the commas,
but full stops and suchlike. It is always a moot point when
letters come before an editor for publication, and there is no
fixed rule for its settlement, since private correspondence is hardly
ever over-careful with these aids to sense. In the present case I
find Wagner's sentences often divided up in a manner unfamiliar
to me ; wherefore I have exercised a faithful translator's liberty,
and punctuated as I myself deemed most in keeping with the
context. Here and there it has been a choice between two evils,
I admit ; but the German edition stands always open to the more
exacting inquirer, and he may be left to strike the balance on
these minor matters, as also on an occasional (a very occasional)
redistribution of paragraphs.

Chronology. — Except with letters "58a" and "111-112," I
have made no alteration in the order of any subsequent to no. 55 ;
before that number I have radically rearranged the Zurich group in
the light of internal evidence. Naturally my rearrangement can claim
no other authority than that of a working hypothesis ; I believe, how-
ever, it will be found an assistance to the reader, and Dr. Golther
himself has courteously given prominence in the eleventh and
following German editions to a table of comparison which I sub-
mitted to him some six months since. Broadly speaking, the said
table (unnecessary to reproduce here) will be found a sufficient guide
to any student who may desire to check my work ; unfortunately,
however, I have revised my own arrangement since in three or
four particulars. My best apologies to Dr. Golther. — N.B. The

* As the German edition of these letters appeared on the very eve
of my going to press with vol. iv of the Life of Richard Wagner^ I
hastily struck out the ''c" from every mention of this surname that
was not an actual quotation there ; but I have since repented of my
haste, and now the " c *'s are all restored in readiness for a possible (?)
reprint.

VALEDICTORY 375

letters of Wagner constituting my first and last groups will be
found subdivided into . smaller grouplets in the German edition.

To conclude, I have grateful thanks to tender to my publishers ;
to Dr. Golther and my friend Herr C. F. Glasenapp, for various
elucidations ; and above all to an English friend, '' Evelyn Pyne,''
for her assistance in giving the due feminine flavour to our joint
translation of Frau WesendoncKs tales and letters, also for her sole
and beautiful translation of that lady's poems. Just seventeen years
ago I had the honour to publish in the now defunct Meister an
Anniversary Ode by " Evelyn Pyne " ; four lines therefrom shall
now form my apostrophe : —

*' Sing of strong Love the redeemer,
Self-less who comes but to save: —
Deathless he lives in thy music —
Tearless we stand by thy grave." —

Wm. Ashton Ellis

Easter 1905.

HORSTED KbYNBS.

INDEX

Following a plan which I have found work satisfactorily in similar
cases before, I do not repeat in this index the figures denoting
tens and hundreds for one and the same reference, excepting
where the numerals run into a fresh line of type : thus

Calderon, 14, 6, 23, 65, 201, 67, will stand for
Calderon, pages 14, 16, 23, 65, 201, 267.

Numerals followed by " n " are references to footnotes, whilst those
enclosed within brackets indicate that the subject is only indirectly
mentioned in the text. — W. A. E.

A., Madame, 175.

d'Agoult, Countess, 53 (?).

Ahasuerus, xli, I47.

Aldridge, Ira, 9.

All Souls' day, 69, 72, 182.

Allg, Musikzeitung^ xxxvii, ix, lii,

I94».
Almasy, Count, 280.

Alps, lix, 32, 5, $8, 100, I, 7, II, 2,
113, 62, 207, 309, 13, 21, 45, 52.

Altenburg, Weimar, 164.

Altmann, Dr Wiihelm, xxxii, I79»,
2921s.

America, xxii, xxxviii, 105, lois, (126),
128, 278M, 319 ; see New York.

Ananda and Sawitri, (xxxvii, xl), Iv,
Ixii, 8, (25,42), 54-6, (82), 97, (117),
239, (288, 306, 20).

Ander, tenor, 277, 80, I, 4, 5.

Anfortas, 140-3, 242.

Apollo, birth of, 150 ; Delphi, 165.

Arthur, King, xxxvi, 244.

**Asyl" (Zurich), viii-xi, xvii, xxx,

xlv, Ivi-lxi, 12-5, 26-8, 31-2, 57, 61,

64, 88, 99, 147, 52, 9, 92, 6, 206, 67,

283, 9i 309, I3» 2I«, 7, 30, 56, 60,

37i«.
Austria, 87, 90, 129 ; see Vienna.

Bach, J. S., 155.

B%den, Gd Duke and Duchess, 64,

loi, 79, 96, 268, 9, (277), 300, 22,

343 ; see also Carlsruhe.
Badenweiler, 343.
Basle, 4, 292, 343.
Baudelaire, 207.

Baumgartner, W., xix, 11, 160, 98.
Baur, 10 ; see Hotel.
Bayreuth, xL, (i79-8o), 330, 2, 70.
Bayreuthtr BUUter^ xiii, 76», 229«.
Beckmesser, 292.
Beethoven, xlviii, 209 ; Egmont, 133 ;

Fidelio^ 228-9; last sonatas etc.,

193 ; symphonies, 7it, 8, 20ff, 356.
Belloni, (214).
Berlin, Ix, 175, 89, 317 ; opera-house,

186, 315.
Berlin friend, Minna's, xxii, v-vi, xxxiv,

lix, 254if, 372.
Berlioz, 182, (184?), 193, 207-9, 28-30^

263 ; Romeo ^ 12 1 ; Troyens^ 208 ;

wife, XXXV, 208.
Berne, ii, I2ff.
Bethlen, Countess, 314.

Bible, 8, 79, i45. "5» 304-
Biebrich on Rhine, 293-305.
I Bingen on Rhine, 309.

376

INDEX

377

Bissing, Frau von, 326, 62 ; Myrrba,

loSif.
Bodmers, the, 10.
Bonapartism, 129, 81.
Bordeaux " episode," xl, i, viii-ix.
Bourgeois et Dennery, igu.
Brahm, the, 225.
Breitkopf and Hartel, see H.
Brendel, 175^.
Breslau concerts, 324, 6, 62.
Briihl ravine, 2&>.
Brunnen, 168.
BrUnnhilde, 13 (81),' 100, 44, 56, 68,

177, 241.
Brussels, 218, 3011; concerts, 214, 9,

232; photo., 223, 32-3.
Buddha, 53-5, 103, 56, 7, ; and Art,

56, cf. 69.
Buddhism, Iv, 8, 53, 156-7, (197), 213,

225, 39 ; mendicancy, 73-4, 103-4.
Bulow, Cosima von, Ix-i, 328, 63, 9,
370.
„ Hans von, Ix-ii, 175, 8, 8411,

198, 203, 14, 30, 55, 67, 8, 76,

328, 6z, 70; daughter (Blandine),

317.

. u. Is,), 77, 119, 58.

Kuttcr, New York, 14.

Lacombe, Louis, 207.

Latin, 227.

Latona, 150.

Laussot, Mme, xl, cf. xlviii.

x missing, 122, 8, 36 ; pfte score,
331 ; poem and draft, xliv, 365 ;
* sketches,' 371/1.

Sicgfrietfs Tod, poems, draft and pre-
face, xliv, 365.

Sihl-Thal, Iviii, 100, 237.

Silence, 22, 43, 5, 86, 9, 98, 163, 81,
260. 4, 6, 75, 80-1, 352, 8, 62;
'* sounding," 64, 189, 286.

Simplon, 35.

Sina (Baron?), Venice, 87.

Soden baths, 247/1, 72'<.
(^unt J., i8ff.

»»

Solferino, 158.

Spanish literature, 18-23, '42, 227 ; see

(^alderon.
Stachelbeig, 6m.

Standhartner, Dr, 277, 83, 317, 25, $1.
Stars, 36, 44, 88, 90, 277 ; comet, 44;

Jupiter, 231. 3.
" SUhe sHil,'' 17, 58, 6oif.
Stein, Charlotte von, vi, Ixi-ii, 1911,

3.72.
Steiner, A., Neujakrsblatt, xiii, xxvi,

282/f.
Strakosch, 1 28/1.
Strassburg, 19.
Stromkarl, 221, 2.
StUnzig (?), Zurich, 223.
Stttrmer, (?), Paris, 273.
Sulzer, Jakob, xvi, xxxvii, 14, 346, 7.
**Swan" (pfte), 57, 71, 2, 113, 334;

see Erard.
Swans, The blacky 272it.
Switzerland, Hi, 28, 72, 10 1, 5, 60, 77,

217, 79» 310, 3, 21, 56, 8.

Tdgliche Rundschau, Berlin, xiii.
Tannhauser, xliii, 238, 50, 303/1 :—
Ballet, 219-23.
Cut in act ii, 186.
French translations, 174-5, S''* 213,

238, 48 ; prose, 238.
Hero, 97, 186, 221, 2, 38.
March, 208, 9.

Overture: perf., Paris, 210; Strass-
burg, I9« ; Zurich, xliv ; — time-
length, 206.
Paris : hopes of, 179, 82, 201, 3, 13 ;
Grand Opera production, 216-20,
243, 8-9, 53-68, (286).
Paris version, 220-3, 38, 46, 8,

250, 2.
Performances (other) : Prague, ao6 ;

Vienna, 272.
Poem, 238 ; draft, 364.
Selections, concert : Paris, 204, 9-10;
Zurich, xlvii — milit., Venice, 90.
Tappert, Wilhelm, xxi, xxxv.
Tdjsso^jerus. Delivered, 123, 6, 8.
Tasso, see Goethe.
Tausig, Carl, 24, 136, 270, I.
Tedesco, Mme, 249, (254/2).
Tichatschek, Joseph, xiv, xxx, 18911,

201 ; wife, xxvii.
** Transitions," artistic etc., 184-8.
" Trdume,'' 16, 7, 80, 283.
Traunblick, Salzkammergut, xxxviii.
•* Treibhaus, Im,'* 17, 23.

INDEX

383

Treviso, 107,

Tribschen, lake of Lucerne, 154^, 331.
Tristan und Isolde, 64, 82, 105,
288:—

G>mposition-draft, mus. : act i, 15-7,
283; act ii, 22«, 4, 57, 118. $2,
185 ; act iii, xii, xix, xx, 105, 17-
I39» 46-55» 8, 9 (completed), 220,
—themes, 123, 7 :— M.S., 158,
204, 364«, 7i«.

Hero and heroine, xxvii, xl, Ixi, 17,
36, 77«, 96-7, 140, 53-5, 220.

Mabinogion, 244.

Music, Wagner on, 79, 105, 24, 65,
168, 77, 85, 90-1, 240, 75, 88;
sings, 263.

Orchestral draft : act i, 18, 21 ; act
ii, xviii, 24^, 36, 41, 64, 7, 71, 5,
79, 80, 7, 92-1 1 1 ; act iii, 130, 2, 9,
144, 5f 56, 8— fair copy, 132, 46,
15I1 5» 00, lit :— MS. 234«, 371/1.

Pfie (vocal) score, 255.

Poem, viii, Ix-lxi, 14, 42, 65, (81),
121-2, 42, 52, 243, 85, 352, jm ;
first idea, Ii, Iv ; prose-draft, Ix ;
publication, xxxii, 9111, 4, 121-2,
237«, 37 1»; translation, French
prose, 238.

Prelude, 130, 213: concert-close,
198-9, 209, 32 ; perf. :— Leipzig,
I47», 98//; Paris, 198-9, 202-4,
210; Pesth, 316; Prague, I98n,
203, (315— al«o at W.'s other concerts
of that year).

Production contemplated, xxvii, 86,
119, 204, 19, 40, 3, 50, 5, 9, 88:
Carlsruhe, 64, 101, 30, 77, 9, 81.
183, 96, 202, 68, 73, 92« ; Dres-
den, i89i»; Munich (elfected),
179^*. 329-30; Paris, 201-2, 11-3 ;
Vienna, 271, 2, 5, 7-8, 284, 5, 7,

304-5. 15. 46.
Score, proofs, 166, 90; pubd, 206,

23o«, i«.
Sketches, prelim., 283, 307, 11.
Trttmplers, the, 10.
Tschandalas, 54, 193.
Tschudi, Fauna of the Alps^ 279.
Turin University, 347.
Tyrol, 100.

Uhlig, Th., xxiv-v, xl-vii, 167/f.
UUmann, B., manager, 128.
Ulrich, see Hutten.

„ Frln, 344.
Usinar, 8.

Vandyck, 112, 27^.

Venice, xii, iii, viii, xxvii, xxx-ii, 34-5,
41-2, 86-7, 9, 100, I, 4.5, 1 1-2, 8,
128, 36, 227, 84, 6, 9, 90, 306, 7, 47,
348: Caf(6d.l. Rot., 89; Giard. publ.,

35, 88, 100 ; Grand Canal, xviii, 35,

36, 44, 69, 77, 87, 8, 9, 107 ; Lido,
42, 4, 88 ; Piazza S. Marco, 35, 77,
88, 90 ; Piazzetta, 35, 44, 87, 8, 100,
—lion, 350; Rialto, Foscari, Grassi,
87 ; Riva, 100. See Pal. Giust.

Venus, 112 : Tannh,, 220-2, 38, 46, 9,
250.

Venusberg, (186), 220-3, 364.

Verdi, 316.

Verona, 100, lo.

Vicenza, 107.

Victoria, Queen, 251.

Vienna, xxxv, ^7, 105, 201, 68-70, 4-
286, 92«, 301, 4.27, 44, 5.9, 55, 7,
362 ; concerts, 30J, i6 ; Schonbrunn,
309 ; Theatre, 268, 81,315, 23,— see
Tristan,

Villemarqu^, Ct de la, 244.

Villot, F., 206-7.

Violin, 42, 209, 21, 2, 50.

Vischer, Prof. F. T., 18.

VreneU, (126), 154, 61, 7, 9, 76, 318.

Wagner, Cosima, 330-1, 69, 70.
Wagner, Minna, vii, ix-xxxvi, xliii, vii,
xlix, lii-lxi, 3, 4, 9.14, 22/1, 5-6, 32,
37«, SI, (63), 70-I, 85, loi, 2, 175-
176, 89«, 90«, I, 2«, (214, 24, 8),
247«, (249, 58, 62, 3, 4, 5, 7, 70-2),
273, 4», (278), 283-4/*, 98-9«. 307,
316, 60, 72: — birth and marriage,
xxi-ii; brother-in-law, xiv, xxiii, v, vii,
70 ; death, xxxv, 330^ ; laudanum,
XV, xxxiii-iv, 372 ; letters, xviii, ix-
XX, ii, iii, v-xxxiv, lix, Ix, (160, 2, 4),
200«, 54/«, 372.
Wagnbr, Richard :—

Abode, viii, xi, ii, vi-viii, xx, iii-v,
xxxiv, liii, vi-ix, 3, 4, 10-3, 26-8,
33, 5, 6, 8, 44, 56, 61, 87-8, 99,
105, 13, 8, 24, 6-7, 35, 50, 3-6, 63,
104, 7, 75-8, 80-3, 9, 92-3, 247, 51,
254, 69, 71-3, 7, 9, 83, 5, 9, 90,
293, 7-9, 305, 7-17, 2i«, 5, 6, 50,
355-6, 62.
Animals, xxv, Iv, 19. 47-50, 169, 278,
279 : -birds, 12, 3, 26, 98, 117, 43,
167, 247-8, 99 (cf. 302, 52) ; dc^s,
9, 86, 255-6, 79, 99«, 357,— see
Fips; horses, 107, 46-7.. 280

384

INDEX

Wagner, Richard {continued) : —
Box lost, 122, 8, 36.
Christianity, 32, 79, 141, 3, $, 51,

166, 238, 304.
Colour, 18, 64, 88, 126, 32, 92, 258.
Conducting, xxi-iv, xliv, 8, i6if, 20,

62, 4, 128, 79-80, 2, 93, 5, 202-IO,

257-60, 305, 13-27, 55i 6, 62.

Creations, xi, xx, xlvii-ix, Iv-vi, 24,
37-8, 42, 8, 54-6, 75. 8. 93-7, 106,
121, 4-5, 44, 5, 7, 50, 2, 6, 65, 73,
184-6, 8, 91, 7, 200, 2, 16-8, 26-7,
238-41, 50, 86-7, 90^ 8, 303, 22, 7,
370 ; their performance, xiii, xxiv,
xxxi, xliii, 60, 2, 86, loi, 5, 10,
125, 8jf, 74, 8-80, 95-6, 202-4, 1 1-3,
219, 20, 5-7, 43, 8, 55, 9, 66, 72,
277-8, 81, 304, 15.6, 9, 28, «, 8.

"Daemon," xii, 22, 31, 43, 58, 85,

173, 4, 97, 204, 13, 9, 24-7, 73.
Death, xli, li, 23-4, 6, 8, 31, 4, 42,

46, 7, 50, 7, 8, 61, 4, 6-71, 9, 81,
82, 94, 109, 18, 40-I, 4, 53, 4, 82-3,
185, 90, I, 2, 203, 12, 4, 24, 41,
267, 73, 5-8, 86, 8, 97-8, 313, 4-8,
322, 7, 70.

Diary, 31, 4, 9, 40, 3, 64, 5» 7, 70»
9iff.

Disputing, xli, 3-4, (20), 47, (89),
97, 126, 35-6, 66, 85-8, 91, 259,

319-
Dreams, 31, 3-4, 64, 81-2, 90, 11 1-2,

152, 66, 83, 200, 15, 26, 8, 59, 69,

305, 6, 51.
Dress, 105, 31, 54, 3i8«.
Engravings (presents), 192, 254, 9^.
Exile and amnesty, xii, ix, xxiv,

XXXV, 13, 27, 64, 87, 90, 100-1,3-4,

151, 8-60, 77, 80, 8-9, 212, 3, 26, 36,

299«» 315-
Eye-strain, xliv, 138, 54, 99-200, 40»,

253-4, 86 ; cf. 232-3.
Fame, il, 73, 87, 90, 103, 5. ii, 39,

174, 8, Q3, 5, 204-10, 58, 76, 9, 80,
287, 308-9, 18-9, 22, 55, 8.

Flowers, lix, 17, 21, 6, 80-1, 108, 12,
118, 52, 61, 301, 3.

Friendship, male, xiii-vi, ix, xxxvi,
xli, iv, vi, Ivii, Ix-i, 52, 60, 2-3,
65-6, 85-7, 9, 144, 5, 7, 55. 61, 4,
I75» 87-9, 91. 4, 6, 206-8, 17, 30-2,
236, 59i 62, 71, 4, 6, 7, 300-1, lo,

329-
Ghosts, 32, 63, 81, 2.

Gratitude, xv, xxi, xxxvi, Ivi-viii, 5,

15, 43, 65, 73, 7. 104, 18, 35, 55,
162, 93, 223, zoti, 7, 54, 7, 65, 88,
301, 3, 8, 14, 9, 20, 9, 31-2.

Wagnbr, Richard {continued) : —
" Grey," 28, 32, 272, 82, 6, 92, 9,

344.
Handwriting, 1, liv, 103, 8, 9, 34,

198, 304, 72«.

Health, xviii, xx, vii, xxxii, iii, xliv,
Iv, 5, 9, I2«, 20-2, 4, 36, 9, 45, 6,
64, 8, 74-7, 92, 3, 8-9, 107, 10, 2,
122, 4, 32-3, 5, 8, 45, 6, 56, 8, 60,
162, 6-9, 75, 6, 80, 2-3, 90, 231, 4,
246, 53-8, 78, 301, 9, 17, 21, 3, 4,
326, 50, 62.

Lamp, XXV, 36, 44, 77, 89, 107, 314,
316, 7, 55 ; shade, 18.

Laughter and smiles, 1, iv, 6, 13, 78,
92, 102, 9, 30, 7, 45, 8-9, 56, 8, 65,
i75i 93, 219, 28, 31, 7, 67, 70, 5.
276, 86, 92, 300, 15, 7. 9, 21, 35,
350-1,61.

Letters missing, 18, 24, 34, 9-40,
59», 68, 9i«, 4«, 103, 90, 20711,

284, 92«, 323-4. 7, 46», 59, 73-
Loneliness and retirement, xi, ii, v,
xviii, XX, V, xlvi, vii, liii-iv, vii, 3,

4, 32-3, 5, 6, 44-5, 60-1, 4, 71, 7,
85, 6, 9, 90-2, 117, 29, 31, 7, 44,

145, 7, 50, 5, 9, 63, 4, 74-5, 80, 2,
187-8, 93, 213-4, 23. 8, 35, 48, 50,
271-5, 8o-i, 5-6, 8, 99, 301, 4, 7, 8,
3 1 1-2, 5-0, 22,43, 50-

" Marouise,'* 127, 53, 4.

Misunderstood, vii, xi-iii, vi, xlii-iii,
38-41, 51-3, 6, 62, 6, 79, 85. 97,
106, 20, 75, 85-8. 91, 4, 212, 29,

234-5, 43, 57, 9» 60, 75, 6, 355, 8.
Money-matters, vii-viii, xx, i, lii, iv,
xxvi, vii, xxx-ii, v, vii-viii, xlv, Ivi,
Iviii, 5. IS, 43. 52, 60, 73-4, 104, 5,
126, 54, 6, 7, 61, 7», 76, 95-7, 201,

203, io», I, 4, 9, 23, 6, 34», 5, 42if,
243»f 51, 8, 66-7, 9«, 78, 85, 30i»,
307, 10, 2, 4, 7, 8, 20-2, 6, 7, 62, 9.

" Muse," lix, 13, 22, 80, 189, 273.
Paintings etc., on, 87, 9, 112, 99-200,

204, 7. 22-3, 7, 35, 46, 61, 79, 86.
" Palm,*^ 103, 6.

Passport, 90, 160, I, 4, 7.
Patience, vii, xi, vii, 27, 32, 85, 92,

98, 137, 51, 64, 89, 95, 232, 42, 54,

258, 70, 8, 8.
Pen, 1, liv, 9J, 152.
Pessimism, hi, 46, 52-3, 8-9, 125-6,

149, 50. 263, 76-8, 86, 9-90, 8, 314-

322, 8-9, 46, 55-8, 62 ; see Schop.
Pfte-playing, xlvii, 1-i, iii, Ix, 7, 16,

57-8, 65, 72, 80, 118, 23-4, 30, 2,

137, 45, 55. 60, 79, 98, 232 So;

see Enird.

INDEX

385

Wagner, Richard {conimued) :—
Pillow, 23, 13s, 64, 301, 3.
Portfolios, 34, 274«, 325, 8-9, 63,

372 :— brown, 310-2, 6, 7, 55, 6 ;

green, 283-4, 307i ", Sh 61 ; red,

149, 51, cf. 37i«.
Portraits of self, 207, 23, 32-3, 74,

309. 45. 8.

Presentation plate, &c., 205-6, 312.

Reading, xliii, liv, 6, 8, 14, 8-23, 36,
44. 53. 78-9, 92-3. 102, 20, 2-3, 6,
129-31, 6, 41-3, 8-50, 6, 63, 8, 77.
181, 9, 207, 27, 56, 70, 9, 87, (331),
350 :— aloud xlvii, 14-5, 9, (182),
267, 92, 9-300.

Rest, quiet and repose : inner, xx,
Iviii, 8, 24-5, 7-8, 35, 41-3, 56, 60-
64, 6-7, 70, 6, 106, 9, 18, 45. ^.
i52-3» 63, 73. 81, 3, 6, 9, 200-1,

225, 8, 31-3, 6, 7, 42, 58, 60, I,
281, 99/1, 302, 1 1-2, 23, 7, 46, 58 ;
outer, xi, iii, viii, xxxiii, xlv, liv,
Ivi-vii, ix, u-3, 33, 5, 43, 52, 62,

64. 89, 139. 50. 4« 80, 8, 9, 92, 5,

226, 7. 5'. 7, 8, 67, 73, 304, 7, 8,
309. 11-3. 24, 7»56, 61.

Riding, 113, 46-7, 54. 80.

Servants, 32, 77, 8, 92, 126, 54, 61,

i6p. 76. 7. 228, 52-3, 312, 8, 26.
Singing, 1, 13, 133, 68, 74, 9, 82, 257,

263.
Sleep, 16-9, 31-4, 6, 46, 64, 9, 107,

135. 237. 5<^ 6.
Spring, xliv, 69, 123, 9, 66, 77, 228,

247.
Tea-set etc., 43, 88, 118, 297, 317,

356.

Travel and trips, xii, xlvi, 1, ii, iii, 6,
9, II, 8, 20, 7-8, 31-5, 57, 68, 9,
72, 4, loi, 7, 1 1-3, 22, 78, 32, 3,
137. 45. 7, 57, 9. 60, 2-4, 73«, 7, 94,
197, 202, 33, 5, 47, 68-79, 84-7, 90-
293, 8», 305, 8, 9, 13-27, 55, 62.

Walking, xviii, xlvii, liii, iv, vii, ix, 6,
35, 88, 100, 7, 17, 38-9, 44, 52, 75,
228, 37, 54, 80, 301, 3, 12.

Weather, lix, 3, 6-7, 35, 57, 65, 8o»
ioo» 7, 12, 7, 20-39, 45, 6, 51-60, 4,
166, 99, 202, 28, 31-4, 42, 8-50, 4,
255» 80, 326» 43.

Weeping, 1, 9, 32, 67, 8, 109, 19, 91,
228, 76, 92, 306.

Working-hours, xvlii, liii, Ix, 14, 124,
I35» 8-9, 46, 52-4, 8, 60, 74, 256.

Zwieback, 129-31, 5, 44, 8, 64, 76.
" Wahlheim," 18.
Wahnfricd, 364^.
WalkOre, Die, 1 1//, 321^ :— Music, li,

Hi, iv, V, 8, — privately sung, 1, 12-3, —

theme from act i, 7, — 'sketches,'

37 III, pencilled dedic, li ; Scenario

and Poem, MS., xliv, 365.
Wallis, 35.

Walther {Meistersgr\ 29111, 300.
Walther v. d. Vogelweide, 355.
War, 126, 8«, 34-7, 46, 8-9, 57, 8, 85.
Weber : Freischiiiz, 137 ; Chant at

grave, 331, 66.
Weiland, Richard, 205-6.
Weimar, xlvi, 62, 6, (131?), 271, 4-7,

345 ; Gd Duke, Ivi, 26, 277.
Wesendonck. Guido, xxxviii, liii, 14 ;

death, xxvii-viii,xxxvii,66-7, 7I1 108-

109.
Wesendonck, Hans, xxxviii, 288/f, 91^,

347«.
Wesendonck, Mathilde, vii-xi, xvi-

xvii, XX, v-viii, xxxiii, viii-xl, iv-v,

xlvii, 1-lxii, 369-74 : —
Death, xiii, xxxix, 370, 2.
Diar)', 32-3, 50, 6, 67, 372.
Health, 4. 7, 13, 39, 82, 139, 75, 81,

183, 90. 237, 56. 75. 97. 302, 45, 51.

369. . .
Letters missmg, 24, 34, 40-1, 5, 50, 9,

64, 7. 8, 86, 91, 109, 10, 7. 24, 34,

136,8,44,6,9,51,3,64,5,8,75,81,

190, I, 4, 9, 201, 9, 14-5, 23, 4, 8,

232, 46, 52-3, 6, 7, 64, 6, 9, 7o> 5,

281, 3-4«, 97/1, 30011, 13//, 2o«, 2, 7,

334, 46;/, 8, 50//, iw, 71-2.

Poems« xxxix, 16-7, 58, 80, 133, 7,
22i«, 303, 7, I3«. 34, 5», 51-4, 75.

Portraits, 45, 228, 32, 51, 82-4, 310,

345.
Tales, xxxix, 95, 8, 106, ii, 58, 9,

334-42, 75.

Wiedersehen, xxxvii, 25, 7-8, 36, 9,

69, 72, 81-2, loi, II-3, 8, 22, 3. 6»

128-31, 44, 6, 9-51, 5, 7, 9, 60-3, 6, 7t

173/1, 86-7, 97, 233, 51, 7, 64-5, 7,

269, 74-5. 8, 82, 4-7, 00, 2, 300, 6,

321-7, 30-1, 45-8, 56-61, 72.

Wesendonck, Myrrha, 9, 14, 103, 13, 8,

I35» 51,60-1, 3, 251, 300, 4, 29 ; letters

to, 108-10, 34, 302.

Wesendonck, Otto, vii-x, ix, xxvi, xxxvi-

xxxviii, xlv, Ivi-ix, 3-IJ, 9, 25, 39,63-

65, 9, 103,5. 6, 9, II, 3, 8, 22-8, 31, 5-6,

139, 45, 6, 53, 7, 60, 7, 75, 83, 204, 23,

227, 32. 43», 64-8,71, 4, 8, 91-2, 305-7,

312-3, 8-20, 3, 7,30-2,47, 56, 69, 70 :

— Carriage and horses, 3, 6, 100, 22,

146 ; Children, viii, xxxviii, Iviii, 24,

38, 63, 8, 9, 82, 5, 6, 113, 59, 74, 7,

191, 202, 14, 23, 35, 51, 70, 2, 4, 8,84,

386

INDEX

287, 98, 320, 5, 7, 34i 60, 3 ; Healih,

287» 313* 9» 24* 5. 57-61 ; Letters to,
5, 15, 20, 308-10, — pubd vol., xxxvi,
19OM, 2I5», et passim ; Surname,
spelling of, 37 1«, 3-4. — Also, simple
*kind regards,* 151, 9, 61, 77, 81, 2,
201, 2, 14, 46, 51, 6, 7, 70, 2, 84, 98,
3041 20.

Wesendonk, Karl, xxxviii, i .V'» 4» 108-
iio, 52, 77, 360, 70, 1, 3 ; christening,
Iviii, 1 18-9.

Wiesbaden, 291, 3.

Wille, Eliza, xlv, 38-41, 51, 65, 8, io8«,
131. 61, 77» 255» 7» 326, 7» ^n, 30, 44,
262 ;letters to, 22, 34, 85-91, 144, 305-
308, 71,— pubd collection, 85;*, 327.

Wille, Dr Fran9ois, 74^, 86-7, 131, 44,

I50i6i» V't 327* 44-
Winkelried, 181.

Winterberger, Alex., 106, 10, 38.

Winterthur, Switzerland, 346.

'' Wish," ix, xlviii, 24, 7, 8, 36, 42, 60-3,

78, 8r, 98, 112, 35, 49, 83, 225-7, 33.

242, 55, 8, 65. 90, 304, 12, 7.
Wittgenstein, Pss Carolyne Sayn-,

xxxiv, liii, vii, 13, 147^ 93/'» 229^,

230-1, 4M, 345 ; daughter Marie, liii,

Ivii, I3», 164.
Wolfram, Clara, xxvi, 11, 2if; letters

to, vii, xix, xxxiii, v, 33, 369.

Wolfram von Eschenbach, 136, 41-

144.
Woman, xl-lvi, 28, 42, 6, 8, 53-5, 60,

7Si 9» 103, 12, 40, 55, 73, 6. 96, 240.

242, 8, 50, 62.3, 77, 9, 306-8, II, 4,

317-9, 26, 55, 72-3.
Wotan, 8, 13. 97, 168, 241.

Zehringen, Princes of, 343.
ZeUer, Dr, I75».

Zeltweg, Zurich, xxvi, xlvii, (4), 13.
Zichy, Count, 280.
Ziegesar, Weimar, 365.
Zurich, xxiv, xxxviii, liii, 3-28, (>iy
122, 6, 52, 60, 7, 79-80, 250, 5, 82,

287,330*46:—

* Catastrophe,* vii-xix, xxv-viii, xxx,
xxxvii, xlviii-ix, Ix, 22, 4-8, 3 1 -3* 41 >
43. 4. 51. 7» 60, I, 9, 125, 47, 52,
(189, 92. 4)1 260, 7, 73, (284, 9),
303, 6, 8, 13, 4, 30, 69.

Concerts, xliv, vii, 1, 6, 7;i, 8, 204/^

209, 317, 44» 56.
Lake, lix, 74, 85/1, 313.
Rathhaus, 144.
Villa, Enge, see Green Hill.
Zwickau, xxi, v, vi, (70).

Printtd by HumU, Watson & Viney, Lt/., London andAyltsbury.

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