[...] I have read the extract from your letter about Tristan. It is bound to be held against you. The beautiful and tremendous things you have to say about it I shall ignore: they are your own affair. But I do condemn as impractical your doubts as to the opera’s likely popularity. Such things are never said in confidence, but are always retailed to strangers and to people who are more or less permanently hostile towards us: and this must always be borne in mind when it comes to publications. Härtels are already proving difficult on account of this doubt that has been expressed by one of my own friends. But why should you, or I, or any of our few genuine friends worry about this tiresome question of popularity? Why should we even allude to it? After all, there are many things we willingly admit to between ourselves - for ex., that I have become a totally different fellow in matters of harmony as a result of getting to know Liszt’s compositions; but when friend Pohl blurts out this secret for the whole world to hear, right at the head of a short notice on the Tristan Prelude, it is indiscreet to say the least, and am I not supposed to assume that he was authorized to commit such an indiscretion? Liszt, for ex., may well write in ink on the dedication page of his Dante that he thinks he owes me a great deal; I can accept that as an excess of friendship. But it would be foolish of me to insist that something of the kind should be printed and added to the dedication for all the world to read. The very suggestion would have provoked an immediate public protest on my part. We’d both do well to recommend that Herr Pohl show a little more discretion in future, for I believe he is compromising Liszt, though he may also be pleasing the Princess. - Well, this is merely by the way. -
In all confidence, however, I must lament the fact that I can no longer find the right words to write to Liszt. I have been tormenting myself for weeks now with the intention of writing a letter to him. No doubt I could make things easier for myself, since I never really receive a letter from Liszt but, at best, answers to my letters, and even these are only a half or even a quarter of the length of my own letters. He clearly feels no great urge to write to me. If I make the first move, he is the most admirable friend you could wish for, but - he never makes the first move. What is the point of my continuing to make such a move? Admittedly, my situation very frequently gives me cause to address myself to my friends, but I must see if I cannot gradually break free of this habit. How things stand between Liszt and me, or rather - what stands between us - is something you can explain well enough from his attitude. His Dante (dedicated to me) appeared in print over a month previously; I waited for him to send me a dedication copy and assumed that the reason for the long delay was because Liszt, after his extravagant fashion, had wanted to outdo me in my efforts to send him his dedication copy of Lohengrin in a de luxe binding. Finally, my impatience got the better of me: in an offended tone I complained to him about the delay and begged him to let me have a copy. Well, he sent it to me, but I realized to my shame that I had been mistaken as to the reason for the delay: the copy was as it came from Härtels. Liszt, however, had written a few over-exuberant lines in it, to corroborate the dedication, lines which R. Pohl would not have allowed to be printed; but not a single friendly word of apology was enclosed. - I now discover that his Mass has been out for some time; Cosima asks whether I have read his piece on music in Hungary. Liszt knows that I set great store by his being the first to provide me with his new works; but I have not so much as seen either his Mass or his book.
I know that Liszt’s generous nature ultimately triumphs in any conflict; the lines he wrote in Dante were evidence of a fine impulse and a sense of noble shame at an earlier weakness in which he had presumably yielded to insinuations that he should treat me in a more lukewarm manner. In consequence, Liszt will always remain a sublime and deeply sympathetic individual whom I love and admire greatly; but - it is impossible to think very much longer of the benefits of cultivating his friendship. He has already set me a striking example of how to neglect such a friendship: I cannot do other than follow that example; I should otherwise have to conceal too much from him in future, and that makes it impossible to cultivate any friendship.
I can no longer find the right words to address to him; my warmth has too often been met by empty phrases. Phrases, however, are something I cannot write to him: I am too fond of him for that. - And so I would ask you to tell him all about me and my present whereabouts. I hope that in this way he may recognize what it is that governs him, very much to his disadvantage, so that it may dawn on him what it is that he must necessarily lose as a result.
[...]
I spent 4 days in Zurich, staying with the Wesendoncks as their guest: the husband is very devoted to me, and is to be admired in the truest sense of the word. What has developed here is a beautiful and almost certainly unique relationship which has proved what true seriousness of purpose can achieve in the case of even the least gifted natures. Thus the husband stands between me and his wife - whom he had to forswear utterly - as what I can only call the truest of mutual friends. I regard this development as the occasion for extreme pride on my part: I was guided only by the most earnest desire not to deprive the poor woman of my company. I have now succeeded in this almost unprecedented task. We visited each other repeatedly between Lucerne and Zurich: I always stayed at their house, and I am doing all that I can to help this loyal woman in her difficult life, while her husband feels only a sincere delight in my comings and goings. It is a splendid achievement that you see here! Can you emulate it? -
I am again taking back my unhappy wife: she is somewhat improved but can prosper only if her care and treatment are of the greatest forbearance. Only I can bestow this upon her: her very life and death depend upon me, and in consequence my attitude towards her is clearly determined in advance.
Now, fare you well! Give my very best wishes to Cosmus; ignore my objection to your effusions concerning Tristan, since I am sure they were intended only as gossip, and write again soon, for even from you I never receive proper letters! -
Adieu!
Yours,
R.W.
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 249