Chapter III: Part 3

After having been in Paris together, should we not try to meet in London also? How can we manage it? And how about the translation? I am looking forward to it with immense pleasure, and shall use it for learning English after all. Shall I receive it here?

I start on the 25th. If you find it necessary to write to me at once at London, address to Ferdinand Prager, 31, Milton Street, Dorset Square. I shall stay with him till I have found a convenient lodging. Could you give me an introduction to the London Erard and ask him to put a nice grand piano in my room? I shall be glad to see Klindworth. Farewell for today. Give me another pleasure soon, and remember me at home.

Your

R. W.

174.

Pardon me, dearest Franz, for writing a few lines to ask you a favour. I did not communicate with you before because I waited for the copy of my "Faust" overture to be ready. I expect it in a few days, and shall send it you at once, together with a proper letter. For today only the following:--

The French ambassador is going to give me his vise [i.e. the French term for "visa"] of my passport through France after repeated applications in Paris, but this is subject to all manner of chicanery, which is disgusting to me, and must be got out of the way, so that in future I may be able to pass without difficulty and at any time through and into France. I shall therefore pay a visit to the Minister of the Interior in Paris, and see whether I can succeed in putting a stop to these vexations. It would, no doubt, be very useful if some one of the court of Weimar (no one better than the Grand Duke himself, perhaps through his minister in Paris) could give me an introduction which would make me favourably known to the people there and teach them a little reason. I am prepared to make every necessary promise in return. Do see what you can achieve.

I start in a fortnight; therefore no delay, please.

You will hear in a few days from

Your

R. W.

February 9th, 1855.

175.

DEAREST RICHARD,

The Grand Duke has been in bed for several weeks, and I shall probably not be able to see him for a fortnight. Apart from this, it will not be quite so easy to settle offhand the matter you have entrusted to me, but I promise that I shall not fail to take the proper steps, and I hope to send you satisfactory news within twelve days or a fortnight. Berlioz has been here since Sunday, and is busily engaged conducting rehearsals for the performance of his "Trilogie Sacree" ("L'Enfance du Christ") and his "Symphonic Phantastique," including the second part thereof, which he calls a monodrame lyrique. I send you programme and libretto.

He tells me that he is not going to London till May, and will conduct only two concerts of the New Philharmonic. As a kind of prelude to the Paris "Exposition Universelle", he will perform his Te Deum on the 1st of May in the Church of St. Eustache.

During this week of the year we are generally in a state of great confusion. Six years ago, on the 16th of February, "Tannhauser" was performed for the first time, and on the same date two years ago the "Flying Dutchman;" for today "Belisario" is announced, which at any rate I prefer to the silly "Le Macon," which has been the delight of Dresden and Weymar during the winter. Even some of our friends were simple enough to call this rotten musique de portieres charming and a model of its kind.

The Cologne people have done better than this: they have bravely swallowed "Lohengrin" without choking over it. This has delighted me. From Hamburg also I hear that the public are gradually being educated up to it.

How far have you got with the "Valkyrie?"

Difficult as I find it to part with your "Rhinegold," I promise to send the score to Fischer in a few days. He can send me the pianoforte arrangement later on.

My best remembrances to your wife. I shall soon write again, and also hope to hear from you.

Most thine own, F. LISZT.

WEYMAR, February 16th, 1855.

176.

These lines, most incomparable friend, are intended to introduce to you Carl Klindworth, about whom I have spoken and written to you several times. You will find him an excellent musician and pianist, who is cordially devoted to you, and has not in vain lived several years with me at Weymar. Since last year he has been settled in London, where I cordially commend him to your protection.

Your

F. LISZT.

WEYMAR, February 16th, 1855.

177.

DEAREST, DEAREST LISZT,

Pray let me have the LETTER TO ERARD for which I asked you concerning the piano.

More after the concert.

178.

DEAREST RICHARD,

You have entirely forgotten to let me have your address; and although your fame has reached the point of immortality, it is just possible that the London postmen might have heard nothing of "Tannhauser" and "Lohengrin." Be kind enough therefore to tell me in your next letter the street and the number of the house.

These lines you receive through Klindworth. Enclosed is the letter to the maison Erard, which is represented in London by M. Bruzot. If Erard himself should be there, pay him a visit at once, but I doubt whether he is sufficiently recovered to occupy himself with pianoforte and harp matters. A few months ago my children wrote to me from Paris that Erard was very ill, and, after fruitless trials of baths and medicines, had been taken to a private hospital.

I have not neglected your passport affair, and have induced the Grand Duke and another important person to recommend you specially in Paris. I hope these transactions will not be without result.

The changes you have made in the "Faust" overture are excellent, and the work has decidedly gained by them. I have sent the score to the Hartels. If you are satisfied with an honorarium of twenty louis d'or, write to me simply, "Yes," and the full score and parts will soon be published. To a larger honorarium the Hartels would not agree, but they will make the edition better and handsomer than would any one else, and I should therefore advise you to answer me in the affirmative.

I shall have to work hard for several months to come. The Cardinal Primate of Hungary has set me the task of composing a grand mass for the inauguration of the cathedral of Gran. The ceremony will take place in August at the latest. The Emperor will be present, and I have undertaken to conduct the mass, etc., for which purpose I have to be in Gran (three hours' distance from Pesth) a month before.

This task gives me much pleasure, and I hope to produce an edifying work.

Farewell, dearest Richard, and write soon to

Your

FRANZ.

March 12th, 1855.

The letter to Bruzot is meant for the FIRM of Erard; if he should be absent, give it to the representative of that firm.

Your letter to B. has been forwarded.

179.

Good gracious! here comes your and M.'s dear, dear letter! In my terrible mood, it has quite upset me. You will have heard of my letter containing my disgraceful decision regarding "Tannhauser" in Berlin. In this matter I feel in turns trivial, sublime, and contemptible. The latter mood you have just revived in me, and I am inclined to repent that I have been trivial. But it is almost too late now. By giving up "Tannhauser," and at last even "Lohengrin," to the theatres without reserve, I made such humiliating concessions to the reality of our miserable artistic circumstances that I can scarcely sink much lower. ONCE AGAIN I say, How proud and free was I when I reserved these works to YOU for Weimar; now I am a slave and absolutely powerless. One inconsistency involves another, and I can dull my unpleasant feeling only by being still more proud and contemptuous, in the sense that I look upon "Tannhauser" and "Lohengrin" as altogether done with and no longer belonging to me, and that I keep my NEW CREATIONS all the more sacred for myself and my true friends. This is my only comfort. What I am creating at present shall never see the light except in perfectly congenial surroundings; on this I will in future concentrate all my strength, my pride, and my RESIGNATION. If I die before having produced these works, I shall leave them to you; and if you die without having been able to produce them in a dignified manner, you must burn them: let that be SETTLED.

Klindworth has probably not yet had time to write to you about my first appearance, but he is going to do so.

After the first rehearsal the directors of the "Philharmonic" were so delighted and full of hope that they insisted upon my performing some of my compositions at the very next concert. I had to yield, and chose the pieces from "Lohengrin." As for that purpose they granted me two rehearsals, I also fixed upon the "Ninth Symphony", at which I am pleased, for I should not have given it with one rehearsal. The orchestra, which has taken a great liking to me, is very efficient, and possesses great skill and fairly quick intelligence, but it is quite spoilt as regards expression; there is no PIANO, no NUANCE. It was astonished and delighted at my way of doing things. With two further rehearsals I hope to put it tolerably in order. But then this hope and my intercourse with the orchestra are all that attracts me here; beyond this all, all is indifferent and disgusting to me. The public, however, have distinguished me very much, both in receiving me and even more at the close. Curious to me was the confession of some Mendelssohnians that they had never heard and understood the overture to the "Hebrides" as well as under my direction.

Enough of this.

Many thanks for your introduction to Bruzot; I long for a piano and for my work. To the Grand Duke also I am much indebted.

Let the Hartels have my "Faust" overture by all means. If they could turn the twenty louis d'or into twenty pounds, I should be glad. In any case they ought to send the money here as soon as possible. I do not like to dun the "Philharmonic" for my fee, and therefore want money. The proofs of the score they must also send to me for correction.

The publication of this overture is, no doubt, a weakness on my part, of which you will soon make me thoroughly ashamed by your "FAUST" symphony. When shall I hear something of that? I am afraid my chances of seeing you here have declined, since you write about this "Hungarian" commission. I can imagine how the invitation has pleased you; and I too am pleased and most curious to see your work. But when shall I see something of all this, you reticent person? Do you not feel how I must long for such cordials amongst the trivial surroundings in which I always live? I must confess, however, that I always prefer becoming acquainted with your creations through yourself. In that manner everything is disclosed to me at once that otherwise I have to disclose to myself painfully. This happened to me in the case of your "KUNSTLER", while all that you gave me yourself at the piano at once penetrated me by dint of unconditional and perfect artistic enjoyment.

When shall we see each other, you most amiable and noblest of men?

Most stupidly I was unable at "Paris" to remember the address of your children, nor could I think of "Belloni's" address. By taxing my memory I went half mad. Now, stupid fool that I am, it occurs to me that I need only have gone to "Erard's." In this manner I deprived myself of the pleasure of seeing them once more, which grieves me very much. Please let me have the address for my return journey.

A thousand thanks to dear M. for her beautiful and kind lines. You all appear to me like a family of saints. Ah, we are all holy martyrs; perhaps I shall one day be a real one, but in that case all will be over for me with art--that beautiful delusion, the last and the most sublime, to hide from us the misery of the world.

Farewell, dear, glorious friend.

Remember me cordially at home, and continue to love me.

22, PORTLAND TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK, LONDON.

180

22, PORTLAND TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK, LONDON.

DEAREST FRANZ,

I am in the absurd position of having to demand of you a friendly service of a peculiar kind. I CANNOT delay the Berlin "Tannhauser" affair any longer; my pecuniary position is so unfortunate that I cannot afford to forego the hope of Berlin receipts. Hulsen has applied to me once more, through Alwine Frommann, and, as he says, for the last time. He promises all manner of things; the opera is to be given in the autumn, and the preparations are to begin as early as the spring. I must adopt the "trivial" view of this matter, the same view which unfortunately I am compelled to take of the entire fate of my operas. In spite of D. conducting, "Tannhauser" will probably have the same kind of effect in Berlin which it has had every where else; to connect higher hopes with it seems vain. Let the matter therefore take the only course which apparently is open to it, but I regret very much that you have wasted so much trouble and submitted to so many stupid things in endeavouring to accomplish the condition made by me. We are, as we now see, powerless.

The fate which we must expect is, after all, the COMMON LOT. Our best efforts always appear before the world in a truncated and distorted form. I am going to write to Alwine Frommann that she is to accept Hulsen's offer without further conditions and to tell him that this has been your advice. The truth is that in this manner you will avoid a struggle which, in my opinion, would be fruitless.

Klindworth, for whom I am grateful to you, will probably write to you about my doings in London; I can only say that I do not exactly see what I am here for. The only interesting thing to me is the orchestra, which has taken a great liking to me, and believes in me with enthusiasm. By that means I shall at least be able to have a few good performances, to which the people are quite unaccustomed. All other things, especially public, press, etc., are very indifferent to me. The directors insisted upon my performing some pieces from "Lohengrin" and the Ninth Symphony as early as the second concert, and granted me TWO rehearsals for the purpose.

I am still without a piano. I long to resume my work. WHERE and WHEN shall I see you again?

Taken all in all, I am VERY, very depressed. I am disgusted with the world.

Adieu. Remember me to all at Altenburg; and if you can, continue to love me. 181

DEAREST RICHARD,

It would have been difficult to make Hartel consent to the change of louis d'or into pounds, and after considering the matter I simply wrote to him that you had left the "Faust" overture to me, and that in your name I accepted the honorarium of twenty louis d'or, asking him at the same time to send you that little sum to London.

We will not let our hair turn grey over the "Tannhauser" affair at Berlin. I anticipated this all along, although, for my part, I could not and did not wish to bring it about. I do not grudge your Berlin friends the satisfaction which this issue of the affair will give them, and hope that many other occasions will turn up on which I shall not be superfluous or inconvenient to you.

The day before yesterday I sent the score of the "Rhinegold" (beautifully bound) to W. Fischer at Dresden.

Has B. finished the pianoforte arrangement? In that case I would ask him to let me have it later on, and at my next visit you will sing and represent the whole to me.

I am hard at work at my Mass, of which the Kyrie and Gloria are already finished.

Apart from this, I have to conduct many rehearsals.

Schumann's "Genoveva" will be performed on April 9th, and will give me another opportunity of studying and conducting an opera, which I have not done for the last four months.

Next Sunday (April 1st) the oratorio "Die Verklarung des Herrn", by Kuhnsted, professor at Eisenach and organist of Wartburg in spe, will be given at the theatre; and on April 2Oth Raff is going to give a concert, at which half a dozen of his larger compositions--amongst others, an orchestral suite, the hundred and twenty-first Psalm, a violin concerto, etc.--will make up the entire programme.

This is the musical news of Weymar, which probably will be of less interest to you than to me. Of my life, my hope, my endurance, I have nothing to say that is cheerful....

Whether the great political event, the death of the Emperor, will have a softening influence on my personal fate, remains questionable. In a few weeks I shall have direct news. Whatever it may turn out to be, I cannot waver or hesitate. To you, dearest Richard, remains cordially and invariably attached

Your F.

I am constantly being asked for introductions to you. Generally I refuse them, but in a few cases I have to yield.

Tell Klindworth he is to write to me about your Philharmonic concerts. His cousin, a very amiable lady, will shortly bring you news of Weymar, where she has been staying several months.

182. DEAR, GREAT MAN,

For a long time I have been wishing to write to you, but had not the courage to do so. Alas! how can I speak to you from my heart? Today a sheet of paper with a red border comes under my hand; so many symbols are comprised in that colour! It is devoted to love, it is the purple of kings, and the image of human blood. It is therefore suited to both of us: to you as the emblem of your sovereign genius, to me as that of an ardent attachment, the flames of which are my happiness and my glory; to both of us as the sign of the wounds which destiny has inflicted on us without touching our souls. Need I tell you how much I should like to see you again, and how sincerely I desire that your sojourn in London will be agreeable to you in one way or another? I can do nothing, nothing, except the best thing of all: to love, to bless, to admire.

Your affection is very dear to us; continue in it; it is the sun of our starless sky.

May God be with you. Our hearts are always yours.

CAROLYNE.

March 27th, 1855.

183.

DEAR FRANZ,

You have punished me in your amiable manner. I reproached myself very much about this Berlin affair; in any case I was too rash, and settled the matter too quickly after my fashion. I ought to have asked you, as you were my plenipotentiary, to cede the opera finally to Hulsen; that would have been better, and you would, no doubt, have undertaken this last transaction to please me. But the whole matter had long ago become so disgusting to me that I lost all energy in connection with it, and felt inclined to finish it as abruptly as possible, so as to hear no more of it. Do not believe that I was brought to this resolution through my "Berlin friends," but exclusively through my pecuniary position, which is accurately known to you, and which has tied my hands as to this point. I was COMPELLED to think of raising money. I have therefore asked for an advance of a hundred louis d'or on account of royalties, and as to the rest have ceded the opera without any conditions. To tell you the truth, everything else in connection with my operas has become a matter of perfect indifference to me. Looking at it carefully, it seems to me that my wish that you should be called to Berlin for the performance of "Tannhauser" has by no means been frustrated thereby. The decision of this matter was never really within the power of the intendant of the theatre. The King alone can suspend the usual order, and HIS decision is quite independent of what the intendant can do on his own authority. It appears to me therefore that our condition was made to an authority which could not have granted it. My giving or not giving the opera to the management was a thing apart; and as regards the invitation to you, this remains a matter which we ought to work with the King direct. Unfortunately it seems that you have little hope of this. What could be done to get some thing out of the King after all? Should I have the impudence to write to him and to try in my own way what seems impossible in any other? The thought of accomplishing my wish after all is the only thing which suddenly places this Berlin affair once more in an interesting light. What do you think of it?

For your news and for the beautiful lines of the dear Princess I am cordially grateful.

Unfortunately I have nothing reasonable to tell you in return. My whole existence here is a perfect anomaly. I am in a strange element and in a thoroughly false position. If at Zurich I conduct symphonies now and then, it is done for the sake of amusement and to please a few friends; to make a vocation of it, in the sense that I am to be judged as an artist by a wholly unsympathetic public and press on these grounds, is simply an absurdity. I sincerely regret that I am here, and shall never in my life come again. Pecuniary success is out of the question; and even if they were to offer me a larger fee for next year, I should probably feel bound to decline it: the misery I have to undergo is too great. This is not MY BUSINESS, and if at my present age, and in the unsettled condition of my health, I cannot at least abide by my business, I would rather not abide at all; I have quite enough to bear without that.

Perfect performances, which in the long run could alone console me, I cannot achieve. The rehearsals are too few, and everything is done in too businesslike a manner. Although the pieces from "Lohengrin" were favourably received, I am sorry that I have given them. My annoyance at being compelled to produce such trifling specimens of my work and to have my whole being judged thereby is too great. I also hate like poison to have to take a single step in order to gain the favour of that wretched pack of journalists. They continue abusing me to their heart's delight, and the only thing that surprises me is that the public have not so far allowed themselves to be misled. In short, I would have nothing to do with these contemptible matters even if I happened to please the people.

Let me finish my "Nibelungen;" that is all I desire. If my noble contemporaries will not help me to that, they may go to the devil, with all their honour and glory. Through London I have got into awful arrears with my work; only yesterday was I able to finish the instrumentation of the first act of the "Valkyie." Body and soul are weighed down as by a load of lead. My chief wish for this year--to begin "Young Siegfried" at once after my return at Seelisberg--I shall have to give up, for it is very unlikely that I shall get beyond the second act of the "Valkyrie" here. Such as I am, I want a soft, clinging element around me, in order to feel gladly inclined for work. This eternal need of self-condensation for the purpose of self-defence supplies me with obstinacy and contempt, but not with the love of expansion and production.

Klindworth has probably written to you; at least he was startled when I recently conveyed your reminder to him. He was ill, and is not doing well here, but how am I to help him? Blackguardism, obstinacy, and religiously nursed stupidity are here protected with iron walls; only a blackguard and a Jew can succeed here.

Upon the whole, you were right in retiring to Weimar; as much solitude as possible, that alone can save us.

The Hartels sent me the bill of exchange yesterday; many thanks. Cannot B. do the pianoforte arrangement?

He had only just begun the "Rhinegold," when I took the score away from him to send it to you. As soon as the copy at Dresden has been finished, he is to have it for the completion of the pianoforte arrangement; and after that, if you wish it, it is to be sent to you. Shall we see each other this year, perhaps on your return from Hungary? That would be something like it! Perhaps at that time I should have recovered my voice, which here has disappeared entirely.

Farewell, dearest friend. Patience--that is all that remains to us. Remember me to all at Altenburg. Much luck to your mass!

Farewell, dear, dear Franz.

184.

Klindworth has just played your great sonata to me.

We passed the day alone together; he dined with me, and after dinner I made him play. Dearest Franz, you were with me; the sonata is beautiful beyond anything, grand and sweet, deep and noble, sublime as you are yourself. It moved me most deeply, and the London misery was forgotten all at once. More I cannot say, not just after having heard it, but of what I say I am as full as man can be. Once more, you were with me! Ah, could you soon be with me wholly and bodily, then we might support life beautifully.

Klindworth astonished me by his playing; no lesser man could have ventured to play your work to me for the first time. He is worthy of you. Surely, surely, it was beautiful.

Good-night. Many thanks for this pleasure vouchsafed to me at last.

Your

R. W.

LONDON, April 5th, 8:30 evening.

185.

DEAREST RICHARD,

I had nothing to tell you that was pleasant or important, and therefore did not write to you for a long time. During these last weeks I have spun myself into my mass, and yesterday at last I got it done. I do not know how it will sound, but may say that I have PRAYED it rather than COMPOSED it. On my return from Hungary in September, I shall bring you the mass and my symphonic bubbles and troubles, half of which will by that time be in print. If my scores should bore you, that will not prevent me from deriving sweetest enjoyment from your creations, and you must not refuse me the favour of singing the whole "Rhinegold" and "Valkyrie" to me. In the meanwhile all other musical things appear to me "stupid stuff."

How do you feel in London?

Troublesome though it may be, one must try to bear the inevitable and immutable; to take pleasure in it would be a lie.

The English edition of Philistinism is not a whit pleasanter than the German, and the chasm between the public and ourselves is equally wide everywhere.

How, in our wretched conditions, could enthusiasm, love, and art have their true effect?

"Patience and resignation" is our device, and to it we sing

[Here, Liszt illustrates with a music score excerpt]

Pardon me for being your hollow echo, and let us endure what cannot be cured.

I am very grateful to you for being so kind to Klindworth. In a few days his cousin will come to London and bring you news of me, as she has spent the whole winter at Weymar. Your letter about the sonata has highly delighted me, and you must excuse me for not having thanked you at once. You are often so near to me that I almost forget writing to you, and I am seldom at the right temperature for correspondence. Well, in September I shall be with you; and (D.V.) we will have some bright, comforting days together.

Your

F. L.

WEYMAR, May 2nd, 1855.

186.

DEAR POET, DEAR FRIEND,

Our hearts are with you, and suffer with you; that you know, and cannot be ignorant of.

Let us hear from you soon, and forgive me if, in the midst of the preoccupations of your heart and of your grief, I ask you for a trifle; but it will cost you so little to grant it me, and you will give such great, such very great, pleasure by it. It is the fate of poets and women sometimes to give what they have not themselves--I mean happiness. Take a piece of paper and write on it the following verses, which, as you know, appear to me written with the purest blood of my veins:-

"Nicht Gut, nicht Gold, noch gottliche Pracht; nicht Haus, nicht Hof, nicht herrischer Prunk, nicht truber Vertrage trugender Bund, noch heuchelnder Sitte hartes Gesetz: selig in Lust und Leid lasst--die Liebe nur sein!--" Sign this with your name, your great name, enclose it in an envelope, address it to me, and put it in the post. Forgive me for asking you this small thing--small in its material aspect, but great as the world in its significance.

I press your two hands with mine, dear, dear, great man.

CAROLYNE.

May 7th, 1855.

187.

Cordial thanks, dearest Franz, for your kind note, which I had been expecting a long time. The hope which you open to me of seeing you in September is my only light in the night of this sad year. I live here like one of the lost souls in hell. I never thought that I could sink again so low. The misery I feel in having to live in these disgusting surroundings is beyond description, and I now realise that it was a sin, a crime, to accept this invitation to London, which in the luckiest case must have led me far away from my real path. I need not expatiate to you upon my actual situation. It is the consistent outgrowth of the greatest inconsistency I ever committed. I am compelled to conduct an English concert programme right down to the end; that says everything. I have got into the middle of a slough of conventionalities and customs, in which I stick up to the ears, without being able to lead into it the least drop of pure water for my recreation. "Sir, we are not accustomed to this"--that is the eternal echo I hear. Neither can the orchestra recompense me. It consists almost exclusively of Englishmen, that is clever machines which cannot be got into the right swing; handicraft and business kill everything. Then there is the public, which, I am assured, is very favourably inclined towards me, but can never be got out of itself, which accepts the most emotional and the most tedious things without ever showing that it has received a real impression. And, in addition to this, the ridiculous Mendelssohn worship!

And even if all this were better than it is, what business have I with such concerts? I am not fit for them. It is quite a different thing if I conduct one of Beethoven's symphonies before a few friends, but to be a regular concert conductor, before whom they place the scores of concert pieces, etc., so that he may beat the time to them--that, I feel, is the deepest disgrace. This thoroughly inappropriate character of my position led me to the resolution of sending in my resignation after the fourth concert. But of course I was talked out of it, and especially my regard for my wife, who would have heard of this sudden resignation and of all that would have been written about it with great grief, determined me to hold out till the last concert. The infernal torture this is to me I cannot express. All my pleasure in my work is disappearing more and more. I had made up my mind to finish the score of the "Valkyrie" during the four months here, but that is out of the question. I shall not even finish the second act, in so terribly dispiriting a manner does this false position act upon me. In July I wanted to begin "Young Siegfried" at Seelisberg, on the lake of Lucerne, but now I think of delaying that beginning till next spring. This dislike of work is the worst feature of all. I feel as if with it eternal night were closing around me, for what have I still to do in this world if I cannot do my work?

Through this hell my study of Dante, to which I could not settle down before, has accompanied me. I have passed through his Inferno, and am now at the gate of Purgatory. Really I am in need of this purgatory; for if I consider it rightly, I was brought to London by a really sinful degree of thoughtlessness, which now I have to repent with fervour. I must, I must be resigned; my experience long ago convinced me of the necessity of resignation in the widest sense of the word, and I must now subdue altogether this terrible, wild desire of life, which again and again dims my vision and throws me into a chaos of contradictions. I must hope that I may at some future time rise from purgatory to paradise; the fresh air of my Seelisberg will perhaps help me to this. I do not deny that I should like to meet Beatrice there.

In all other respects things are going badly and crookedly. Poor Klindworth has been ill all along, and the fact that I could undertake nothing with him has deprived me of a great pleasure. He is better now, but not yet allowed to take a walk with me. Besides him, my intercourse is limited to Sainton, the leader of the orchestra, who caused my ill-fated appointment here, and a certain Luders, who lives with him. Both are ardently devoted to me, and do all in their power to make my stay here pleasant. Apart from this, I frequently go to Prager. Quite recently a Mr. Ellerton, a rich amateur, approached me very cordially. He has heard my operas in Germany, and my portrait has been hanging in his room for two years. He is the first Englishman I have seen who does not care particularly for Mendelssohn. A fine, amiable mind.

Klindworth has made the pianoforte arrangement of the first act of the "Valkyrie," which he plays beautifully. Unfortunately I have lost my voice entirely, and can sing very little, so that I am afraid I shall not be able to be of much service to you in that way.

You will have to do all the work next September. You owe me a great debt, you reticent man. If I look forward to anything in the future as pure happiness, it is my becoming acquainted through your means with your new compositions. Do not forget to bring me every one of them. I congratulate you on your mass from the bottom of my heart. Let us hope that you will derive much pleasure from it at Gran.

And how is the Princess? Joyful and sorrowful? Does she still preserve her bright enthusiasm? And Beatrice--I mean the Child? Greet her for me a thousand times.

Farewell, dearest, most unique of friends. Believe me that the thought of you is an ever-new delight to my heart. Be thanked for your love!

Farewell.

Your

R. W.

LONDON, May 16th, 1855.

188.

22, PORTLAND TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK, LONDON,

May 26th, 1855.

Once more, dearest Franz, I must make a complaint about the "Faust" overture. The Hartels have sent me an abominable arrangement for four hands, of which I cannot possibly approve. Did not you tell them that B., who, I believe, had already made a be ginning, would best be able to make this arrangement? Klindworth also would be prepared for it. In any case it should be a pianist of that type. The actual arrangement, which I yesterday returned to the Hartels through a music-seller, must not appear.

However, some wrong notes in this arrangement have drawn my attention to the fact that very probably there are many errors in the score as well. You will remember that it was a copy which I sent to you for your own use, asking you to correct such errors as might occur in your mind, or else to have them corrected, because it would be tedious for me to revise the copy. For the same reason I urgently requested the Hartels, if they printed the score, to send me a proof. You are in frequent communication with the Hartels, and the edition of this overture is really your doing. Be not angry therefore if I ask you to set the matter completely right when convenient. For heaven's sake, forgive me for troubling you with this trifle. The day after tomorrow I have my sixth concert, and a month afterwards I start for home.

Shall I hear from you soon?

A thousand greetings.

Your R. W.

189. DEAREST RICHARD,

I returned here yesterday from the Dusseldorf Musical Festival, tired and dull. Hiller, who conducted the whole, had invited me, and it interested me to go through the whole thing for once, to hear "Paradise and the Peri," and to applaud Jenny Lind. I need not tell YOU anything about it, and I am not much the wiser myself. Although the whole festival may be called a great success, it wanted something which, indeed, could not have been expected from it. In the art world there are very different kinds of laurels and thistles, but you need care very little about such. "The eagle flies to the sun."

Then you are reading Dante? He is excellent company for you. I, on my part, shall furnish a kind of commentary to his work. For a long time I had in my head a Dante symphony, and in the course of this year it is to be finished. There are to be three movements, HELL, PURGATORY, and PARADISE, the two first purely instrumental, the last with chorus. When I visit you in autumn, I shall probably be able to bring it with me; and if you do not dislike it, you must allow me to inscribe it with your name.

With the Hartels little can be done. If the arrangement for four hands of the Faust overture has already been made, I do not advise you to propose some one else. The only thing that can be done with the four-hand arrangement is to ask Klindworth to make some corrections in accordance with your instructions, and to have some of the plates newly engraved without mentioning Klindworth's name on the title-page. Another time it would be a practical thing to send in the four-hand arrangement together with the score, and to come to terms with the publisher about it.

The attitude of the Hartels towards us is naturally always a little reserved. I, for my part, cannot complain of them, and they have always treated me in a decent and gentlemanly manner. But I should not rely upon them for many things, because their intimate friends are decidedly adverse to us; and for the present we shall not be able to arrive at more than a peaceful, expectant footing with them. Although this may sometimes be inconvenient, I think it best to let it continue.

I am surprised that you found so many mistakes in the proofs of the "Faust" score, for, amongst other advantages which they possess as publishers, one is bound in justice to admit that the Hartels have excellent readers (Dorffel, Schellenberg, etc.). Therefore use time and patience in correcting, and where necessary let the plates be engraved over again.

When shall you be back in Zurich? At Dusseldorf they were saying that you had already left London, and jealous Philistia received the news with a joy which I was not sorry to spoil. Whatever may happen, and however it may happen, I implore you to

"Hold out and persevere."

In your capacity of poeta sovrano, you must, as Dante says of Homer, pass on your way quietly and undisturbedly, si come sire. All this dirt does not touch you. Write your "Nibelungen," and be content to live on as an immortal!

Later on I shall ask Klindworth to let me see the pianoforte arrangement of the first act of the "Valkyrie." How about that of the "Rhinegold?" Has H. kept it? Write to me about it, so that I may know how to get at it.

I have advised H. to settle in Berlin, where his position at the music school will be very useful to him. There is not much to be got by travelling about in our days. Later on he may go to Paris and London, but for the next few years Berlin will be a good field for his activity.

I shall stay here during the summer, until I start for Gran at the end of August. The musical task which occupies me is a new and considerably altered score of my choruses to "Prometheus," which I want to publish next winter. As soon as it is finished I shall return to my Dante symphony, which has partly been sketched.

Farewell, dearest, most unique of friends, and write soon to your serf, body and soul,

F. L.

WEYMAR, June 2nd, 1855.

The Princess and the Child send cordial greetings.

190.

Let me express to you, best of men, my astonishment at your ENORMOUS PRODUCTIVENESS. You have a Dante symphony in your head, have you? And it is to be finished in the autumn? Do not be annoyed by my astonishment at this miracle. When I look back upon your activity in these last years, you appear superhuman to me; there is something very strange about this. However, it is very natural that creating is our only joy, and alone makes life bearable to us. We are what we are only while we create; all the other functions of life have no meaning for us, and are at bottom concessions to the vulgarity of ordinary human existence, which can give us no satisfaction. All that I still desire in this world is a favourable mood and disposition for work, and I find it difficult enough to protect these from the attack of vulgarity. It is the same thing with you. But what astonishes me and appears worthy of envy is that you can create so much.

A "Divina Commedia" it is to be? That is a splendid idea, and I enjoy the music in anticipation. But I must have a little talk with you about it. That "Hell" and "Purgatory" will succeed I do not call into question for a moment, but as to "Paradise" I have some doubts, which you confirm by saying that your plan includes choruses. In the Ninth Symphony the last choral movement is decidedly the weakest part, although it is historically important, because it discloses to us in a very naive manner the difficulties of a real musician who does not know how (after hell and purgatory) he is to represent paradise. About this paradise, dearest Franz, there is in reality a considerable difficulty, and he who confirms this opinion is, curiously enough, Dante himself, the singer of Paradise, which in his "Divine Comedy" also is decidedly the weakest part. I have followed Dante with deepest sympathy through the "Inferno" and the "Purgatorio;" and when I emerged from the infernal slough, I washed myself, as does the poet, with the water of the sea at the foot of the Mountain of Purgatory. I enjoyed the divine morning, the pure air. I rose step by step, deadened one passion after the other, battled with the wild instinct of life, till at last, arrived at the fire, I relinquished all desire of life, and threw myself into the glow in order to sink my personality in the contemplation of Beatrice. But from this final liberation I was rudely awakened to be again, after all, what I had been before, and this was done in order to confirm the Catholic doctrine of a God Who, for His own glorification, had created this hell of my existence, by the most elaborate sophisms and most childish inventions, quite unworthy of a great mind. This problematic proof I rejected from the bottom of my soul, and remained dissatisfied accordingly. In order to be just to Dante I had, as in the case of Beethoven, to occupy the historic standpoint; I had to place myself in Dante's time and consider the real object of his poem, which, no doubt, was intended to advocate a certain thing with his contemporaries- -I mean the reform of the Church. I had to confess that in this sense he understood marvellously well his advantage of expressing himself in an infallible manner through means of popular and generally accepted ideas. Before all, I cordially agreed with him in his praise of the saints who had chosen poverty of their own free-will. I had further to admire even in those sophisms his high poetic imagination and power of representation, just as I admire Beethoven's musical art in the last movement of his "Ninth Sympthony." I had further to acknowledge, with deepest and most sublime emotion, the wonderful inspiration through means of which the beloved of his youth, Beatrice, takes the form in which he conceives the Divine doctrine; and in so far as that doctrine teaches the purification of personal egoism through love, I joyfully acknowledge the doctrine of Beatrice. But the fact that Beatrice stands, as it were, on the chariot of the Church, that, instead of pure, simple doctrine, she preaches keen-witted ecclesiastic scholasticism, made her appear to me in a colder light, although the poet assures us that she shines and glows for ever. At last she became indifferent to me; and although as a mere reader I acknowledge that Dante has acted appropriately, in accordance with his time and his purpose, I should as a sympathetic co-poet have wished to lose my personal consciousness, and indeed all consciousness, in that fire. In that manner I should, no doubt, have fared better than even in the company of the Catholic Deity, although Dante represents it with the same art with which you, no doubt, will endeavour to celebrate it in your choruses. I faithfully record to you the impression which the "Divine Comedy" has made upon me, and which in the "Paradise" becomes to my mind a "divine comedy" in the literal sense of the word, in which I do not care to take part, either as a comedian or as a spectator. The misleading problem in these questions is always How to introduce into this terrible world, with an empty nothing beyond it, a God Who converts the enormous sufferings of existence into something fictitious, so that the hoped-for salvation remains the only real and consciously enjoyable thing. This will do very well for the Philistine, especially the English Philistine. He makes very good terms with his God, entering into a contract by which, after having carried out certain points agreed upon, he is finally admitted to eternal bliss as a compensation for various failures in this world. But what have we in common with these notions of the mob?

You once expressed your view of human nature to the effect that man is "une intelligence, servie par des organes." If that were so, it would be a bad thing for the large majority of men, who have only "organs," but as good as no "intelligence," at least in your sense. To me the matter appears in a different light, viz.,- -

Man, like every other animal, embodies the "will of life," for which he fashions his organs according to his wants; and amongst these organs he also develops intellect, i.e., the organ of conceiving external things for the purpose of satisfying the desire of life to the best of his power. A NORMAL man is therefore he who possesses this organ, communicating with the external world (whose function is perception, just as that of the stomach is digestion) in a degree exactly sufficient for the satisfaction of the vital instinct by external means. That vital instinct in NORMAL man consists in exactly the same as does the vital instinct of the lowest animal, namely, in the desire of nourishment and of propagation. For this "will of life," this metaphysical first cause of all existence, desires nothing but to live--that is, to nourish and eternally reproduce itself--and this tendency can be seen identically in the coarse stone, in the tenderer plant, and so forth up to the human animal. Only the organs are different, of which the will must avail itself in the higher stages of its objective existence, in order to satisfy its more complicated, and therefore more disputed and less easily obtainable, wants. By gaining this insight, which is confirmed by the enormous progress of modern science, we understand at once the characteristic feature of the life of the vast majority of men, and are no longer astonished because they appear to us simply as animals; for this is the NORMAL essence of man. A very large portion of mankind remains BELOW this NORMAL stage, for in them the complicated organ of perception is not developed even up to the capability of satisfying normal wants; but, on the other hand, although of course very rarely, there are ABNORMAL natures in which the ordinary measure of the organ of perception--that is, the brain--is exceeded, just as nature frequently forms monstrosities in which ONE ORGAN is developed at the expense of the others. Such a monstrosity, if it reaches the highest degree, is called GENIUS, which at bottom is caused only by an abnormally rich and powerful brain. This organ of perception, which originally and in normal cases looks outward for the purpose of satisfying the wants of the will of life, receives in the case of an abnormal development such vivid and such striking impressions from outside that for a time it emancipates itself from the service of the will, which originally had fashioned it for its own ends. It thus attains to a "will-less"--i.e., aesthetic-- contemplation of the world; and these external objects, contemplated APART FROM THE WILL, are exactly the ideal images which the ARTIST in a manner fixes and reproduces. The sympathy with the external world which is inherent in this contemplation is developed in powerful natures to a permanent forgetfulness of the original personal will, that is to a SYMPATHY with external things for their own sake, and no longer in connection with any personal interest.

The question then arises what we see in this abnormal state, and whether our sympathy takes the form of COMMON JOY or COMMON SORROW. This question the true MEN OF GENIUS and the true SAINTS of all times have answered in the sense that they have seen nothing but SORROW and felt nothing but COMMON SORROW. For they recognized the NORMAL state of all living things and the terrible, always self-contradictory, always self-devouring and blindly egotistic, nature of the "will of life" which is common to all living things. The horrible cruelty of this will, which in sexual love aims only at its own reproduction, appeared in them for the first time reflected in the organ of perception, which in its normal state had felt its subjection to the Will to which it owed its existence. In this manner the organ of perception was placed in an abnormal sympathetic condition. It endeavoured to free itself permanently and finally from its disgraceful serfdom, and this it at last achieved in the perfect negation of the "will of life."