[...] But let us pause here and ask ourselves the question: what in fact is my present intention? If my most basic livelihood were assured, it would be my intention to do what must be done, and to leave undone what would only destroy me if I had to do it. I have poured out my heart to the world, i.e. to my friends, in my latest essay: the Art-work of the Future. From now on I shall cease to be a writer, and revert to being an artist. Providing the outside world leaves me in peace, I shall create work upon work, - for I am brimming over with subjects and artistic plans. But as long as the outward form of the world stays the same, these works must remain mute and be intended for my friends alone: only when that form changes, as it necessarily must, will they speak out and be exactly what the world is waiting for. My Lohengrin was completed long ago: I now feel an all-consuming urge to delay no longer but to write the music for my Siegfried. My head is teeming with subjects for 5 operas: I feel a very real need to give expression to each of them, one after the other. I shall even keep half an eye on Paris: it is not, however, the conditions currently prevailing there which I have in mind, but the ones which must inevitably replace them, and in the none too distant future. I shall spend the next few days elaborating my sketch for there; it is: Jesus of Nazareth. I must first of all attempt to win over my French poet to the idea, so that, encouraged by the hope of a none-too-distant success, he may come to some arrangement with me concerning the plan, in order that we may appear before the public with the finished work when the time comes. - Only when I regard matters in this light can I remain an artist, and create works of art: if not - I shall cease to exist. - My sole concern, therefore, is: to gain time, i.e. gain life. Wretch that I am, I know no craft which would enable me to earn my daily bread: as things stand at present, it must be offered to me, so that I can remain an artist. Who is to do this? Only those who love me, or rather those who love me, my works and my aims and intentions as an artist in such a way that they feel concerned to preserve me for the sake of my art and my aims as an artist. There are not many such people, and what characterizes these few individuals - appropriately enough - is that they love me energetically. They have given me many fine and refreshing proofs of this over the years. There are not many of them, and they are scattered abroad, - but they are friends of my very essence. The most natural thing for me to do in my present position would be to appeal to these friends of mine, openly and for all the world to see; to lay my case and my aims before them without reserve, and to invite them to join in helping me as best they can and with a concerted effort to survive this difficult period of my life, since I am currently prevented by the present state of things from helping myself. They should not see in me an individual in need of help, but an artist and a trend in art which they wish to preserve for the future and not allow to go under. To them shall belong the works I shall unflaggingly create, until such time as they can be handed over to the people as the property which has been preserved for them. Though I were mocked and derided for this by all the curs in the world, it would be a matter of indifference to me as long as I knew that at least my friends had understood me. Were I completely on my own, I should take such a step quite openly, - but I cannot do so because of my wife, - she would not understand me and would hear only the baying of the pack. - And so I must look around for someone who - without publicity - will intercede on my behalf and take upon himself the task of achieving in the most meticulous and self-effacing manner the deed which I myself should have done publicly at a single stroke. The question was how to find this somebody. I felt I had to choose the most influential of my friends and am now pleased to have hit squarely on the very man who, I know, more than any other wishes me well.
It is you, my dear friend, whom I now entreat to accept this special responsibility for me and my art! Without wishing to anticipate your decision, I shall tell you how I imagine you must proceed in the circumstances. You may perhaps begin by inviting one or two people who are friendlily disposed towards me to form a kind of committee with you: you yourself can best choose whom to approach; possibly Löwe would not be entirely unsuitable. (I might mention in passing that a family by the name of Ritter, about whom Uhlig can give you further details and perhaps effect an introduction, - behaved most commendably towards my wife when I left her in Dresden - and completely without prompting - indeed, even without knowing her: perhaps this family could give you some indication where you might find other friends of my art who are as yet unknown to you.) You would, as far as possible, initiate into your plan (which of course must appear to be your own!) only those whose confidence can be trusted and who share the same beliefs, and encourage them to play an active part in helping you; you could perhaps issue a discreet circular for this purpose. From outside Dresden you should approach Liszt in Weimar, similarly Frau Frommann in Berlin (behind the Catholic Church, No 2) and invite them to help in a cautious sort of way with any enterprise you might care to undertake. The aim would quite simply be to collect as much money as possible to be handed over to my wife, so that she can procure without trouble whatever is necessary for our livelihood, and leave me to get on with my work! What you then choose to do with my works would be your own affair. - [...]
I fear I have said more than enough about myself; and yet I cannot lose sight of myself entirely, even when I now turn to speak of you and Wilhelm. The day after I posted my last letter to you, I received a letter from Wilm in New York in which he invited me, among other things, to send him my operas as soon as possible, so that he might do what he could to rouse interest in them and in me. America for me now and always can be of only financial interest: but if circumstances here at home remain such that I finally run out of air to breathe, I might finally cast an eye in the direction of America, but only to become a craftsman there - albeit with a baton in my hand - which would at least ensure me a better income there than it would here. I have no children: this is the difference between you and me: as the father of a family you are beginning a new and immeasurably long life in the new world: mine would be completely extinguished there with my death; so you will have a future there, I would have none; for me my art alone must be what your family is for you: together with your family you form a whole unit wherever you are, without my art I am a miserable egoist, whose only concern would be for his stomach, not for the future. -[...] Much as I enjoyed Wilm’s letter, what really fascinated me was the news you sent me about him: it surpasses our wildest dreams! But I was almost less pleased for Wilhelm’s sake than for you old folks, and for the fact that you have lived to see such happiness! Ah, to perpetuate one’s life through the living flesh and blood is something very different from doing so through writing and notes: all hopes which are directed towards a long artistic life rest basically upon the uncreative poverty of mankind: if men were as they ought to be, a work of art would flourish today and die tomorrow, leaving a new one in its place in full fresh bloom. True, physical immortality is indeed a more beautiful thing: it exists only where love is at its greatest; our loveless civilization, however, has had to get by with all manner of other kinds of immortality, none of which is of much value, - and the same is certainly true of the so-called artistic variety. In return for a single year of genuine, true, human existence I should gladly sacrifice a hundred thousand years of immortality in art. You happy man!
I shall write to Wilm before the week is out: if you have any news of him in the mean time - do let me know.
That you intend going to America so soon has not yet properly sunk in: - I simply cannot conceive it is possible, my heart refuses to accept the idea! - The Heines are off to America!! - Perhaps the autumn mists here are to blame for the fact that I no longer see clearly - possibly also the fact that I am so overwrought: I feel a great sense of sadness, - and there are times when I am assailed by morbid thoughts, - morbid or healthy - they are thoughts of an early death, which often does not seem so dreadful. - I feel so useless, - so utterly superfluous - as lonely people do, - and I often feel very lonely, - especially when I think that the Heines will soon be off to America! -
[...]
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 96