Have you completely forgotten me, my dear child? Did you not receive my little note, which I addressed to you in Weimar some time ago? - I have spent such a miserable day today that I have been unable to work, but I should like at least to be able to wish you a good day. I am a poor tormented creature who will never again find peace of mind: I now know only tension and apathy, brief intense periods of well-being, and long persistent periods of misery; the agreeable sensation of repose that lies between these two extremes is denied me.
Frau Herwegh gave me news of your Mama, and also of your long journey home. How are you both now? Poor Franz is ill again! I am sorry to hear it; I feel something of a reproach here, for it was while he was with me that he first began to feel unwell, or at any rate was unable to stand the pace here. - And so I am not to be permitted to visit you so soon? Liszt’s report sounds fairly hopeless. It has disheartened me very much. Indeed, if I have to live without Liszt for any length of time, I shall pine away completely.
I simply cannot tell you of my longing to hear all his works performed by a decent orchestra. However badly things went for me in St Gall, the concert there has left an unforgettable impression upon me. I should now like to hear everything, especially Hamlet and Dante; but I do not even have the scores! I have just read a report from St Gall in Brendel’s journal, claiming that I had spoken out “most appreciatively” on the subject of Liszt’s compositions!! This annoyed me so much that I was on the point of writing to Br. to protest. All this talk of “appreciation” makes me feel a complete fool. As if there could be any question of appreciation when I was beside myself with admiration and so deeply imbued by all that I heard that I could do nothing but revel in this most rare and supreme moment! - But, good heavens, I can never again bring myself to write to a newspaper. I would not know where to begin or where to end. And, ultimately, whom would I be speaking to? You know my poor opinion of the readership of these music journals, my disgust is insurmountable!
But how shall I set about ever hearing all these works? Everything passed me by here like some momentary intoxication, and what I gained from it all was not a sense of satisfaction but only one of longing. - Just imagine what my life here is like!! My poor ears are constantly exposed to every form of torment; I would rather be deaf! I suffer the most appalling torments purely as a result of this wretched sense of hearing, with which I am yet so keen to hear real music. -
Since your departure I have been greedily devouring the Goethe-Schiller correspondence. Whenever I read a book, it is rarely the actual words on the page that I read, but rather what I read into them. And what I read into these letters was all the things that Liszt and I could promote, instigate and propagate, if only we were nearer each other! I also read here of our rare friendship, written in letters of gold - and the speaker at the St Gall festival, whom Liszt can tell you about, may well be partly to blame for this. And so this book became a very real celebration of the time we spent together. - Since then I have been unable to read anything else. Whenever I am tired in the evenings and wish to avoid over-exciting myself before going to bed, I take up - Walter Scott. On the whole I avoid reading things that will over-excite me since, whenever I do so, I always stumble involuntarily upon ideas for future works, so that I am afraid of being interrupted in my present task. However, I have also read Schack’s “Voices from the Ganges”, which has just appeared. You must read it yourself, even though the poems are not from the noblest period of Indian poetry. Pay particular attention to the IIIrd “Bharata”: - if, while reading it, you recall a certain conversation which we had in St Gall, you will soon see why this poem was bound to have such a passionate appeal for me.
I am struggling to make progress with Siegfried. The scene with the Wanderer has turned out magnificently, and I am now in the process of forging the sword: today - in the midst of my misery - Mime cried out:
though I grew as old
as cave and wood,
no sight like this would I see!
at which I couldn’t help laughing out loud, with the result that my wife came hurrying over in amazement, thinking that I was stretched out on the sofa nursing a sore head. - Well, that’s how it is! A sudden burst of laughter, and then a long period of pain! -
Well, I have prattled on enough about myself. ... My wife is well. Fips is growing very fat, and the parrot is making more noise than is good for us both. I use the dolls’ tea service every day. - Now you know all my news. What else shall I tell you? Yes - in the “Victors”, what will happen is as follows: the girl (presumably Savitri) who, while waiting for Ananda in the second act, rolls in the flowers in utter ecstasy, absorbing the sun, the woods, the birds and the water - everything - the whole of nature in her wanton pleasure, is challenged by Cakya, after she has taken her fateful vow, to look around her and above her, and is then asked what she thinks of it all? - “Not very beautiful” - she then says gravely and sadly, for she now sees the other side of the world. In the 2nd act of Tristan - but you shall not hear any more about this for the present. It is all still only music. -
Adieu, my dear child! Write soon, do you hear, and tell me how things are at the Altenburg; you know that Liszt is always so brief. Did you have any more problems on your journey home? And how is your mother now? Is she in good health, spirited and fiery, and does she still have a place in her kind, indulgent heart for a wicked and stupid person like me?
A thousand cordial greetings!
Be good to your
R. W.
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 197