My dearest Hans, best of friends,
Do not be angry with me for having given you only common tasks to perform for me since we last parted, and for having not yet told you anything sensible about myself. Today will not be much better, in spite of the fact that I have the best of intentions. For a time I was entirely preoccupied with worries about my material existence. My sudden departure from Zurich caused me a good deal of annoyance and increased my outgoings considerably, so that I must now take steps to exploit the success of Rienzi in Dresden and acquire the means to lead as carefree a life as possible at least until such time as I have completed Tristan. Because of this I have had to write letters upon letters, with the result that my head is now in a complete whirl: I hope that the effort will at least bear fruit, although there has unfortunately been no sign of any so far.
But what I do see is that Venice was a happy choice, for which I have to thank Karl: I am greatly attracted by the place, which is so unique and melancholy: I desire the most absolute privacy, and I can certainly find this better here than anywhere else. And so I am hoping for a calm and undisturbed frame of mind with which to resume my work. My grand piano, which has been held up in Zurich until now, is expected to arrive within the next day or so. My recent, heart-rending experiences of life have made me feel even more negative in my attitude to the world: I now feel almost totally free of all wishes and desires. All I want is to cause as little suffering to others as possible: if I know that their sufferings have eased, then mine, too, will disappear. Everything tells me in clear and decisive terms what I must do in order to stop vacillating: were I not an artist, I could become a saint, but I am not destined for that kind of redemption: nor can I take my own life, for if I wished to do so, this will of mine would similarly become an object of art for me, and draw me back towards life at least until I had turned the object into reality, and thus returned once more to the whole circle of grief and misery that is connected to it. That’s how it is with me; it is fate, it cannot be altered. And so I act it out, and put up with it, as long as people now and again put me in the right frame of mind for it. What I mean by this is the glance of a friend, a sympathetic and heartfelt appeal, and a joint profession of fellow-feeling and love! What more do I want! All other desires make us common, and draw us back into the common circle. Let all who have anything worth saving flee from it!
When will Cosima learn to understand that misery is a part of existence, and to discover where redemption alone is to be found. A single day, an hour, brings more maturity than do entire years. - As for myself, the only thing that amazes me is that my hair is still the same colour: there were moments when I thought I would become an old man! -
My poor wife has had another hard time of things: but it appears that the trouble and effort of moving house, which the stupid woman was determined not to spare herself, have in fact helped to sustain her. She is still with her relations in Zwickau, where she at least enjoys peace and comfort. Her resignation now seems to be deep and in earnest: she thinks only of death. Strange how strong is my sense of fellow-suffering. We can bestow our fellow-suffering on even the commonest object, but fellow-love is reserved only for the noble being whom we love. But since the world exists not for joy but for suffering, compassion always gains the upper hand, since it addresses itself to the very core of our existence.
And so I feel that I belong to him who suffers most, at least as long as he continues to suffer: only when I am expected to share his joys do I turn away from him, unless those joys are the joys of a noble being. And what can these joys be? Agreement in our recognition of the world’s condition: sympathy, comfort through fellow-feeling. - How many people could I make happy if only they were to make it possible for me, and for themselves! - Well then - that is why I work, write and compose! Accept it as best you can, and - leave me in peace! - But - no one shall die of grief because of me: - I cannot allow that to happen! -
Fare you well! You see, I am incapable of saying anything sensible! - As soon as I have completed any more of Tristan, you shall learn from that the best I can tell you!
Kind regards to Cosima! And tell her only good things about me. But she should inform her Mama that I was inconsolable “de l’avoir voulu entraîner vers les Wille.” My God, whatever made me think of that? -
Adieu! A thousand greetings from
Your
R. W.
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 220