Dearest and best of friends,
You really are one of the few friends I have who are not immediately frightened away if a letter remains unanswered, but who can be counted on to write again! May Heaven, too, reward you for this! -
I received your last letter but one on my return here to Vienna from Russia: I did not know what to say to your assumption that I would not accept the invitation of the Petersburg Philharmonic Society (exclusively German musicians) out of a sense of Polish patriotism, and that I would have preferred to starve in Germany! It must have astonished you to see me go there after all, but I have seen to it in the mean time that you shall have better guarantees of my Polish conscientiousness in future. - Oh, best of friends! I am a thoroughly frivolous man: a fanatic for peace, — nothing more. In Petersburg and Moscow, in the midst of my triumphs, in the midst of such genuine delight at the truly unbelievably fine performances which I managed to bring off with the musicians there; — in the midst of all the acclaim which in warmth and enthusiasm exceeded anything I have ever previously known, even in Vienna, - all that I could still see before me in my imagination was the apartment and garden with a few beautiful old trees which everyone in Germany had been given instructions to enquire after for me when I left, and which I was determined to acquire only by dint of my own efforts. In Vienna, where I arrived straight from Petersburg, I visited no one, but scoured the area in search of the apartment and garden that I longed for: from the Rhine came news of delays, — then, all at once, I found what I was looking for in Penzing (in Penzing!) - an apartment & garden, peaceful & pleasant! I am renting it and furnishing it with my money, - or rather with what I have been left of it, - so that it is pleasing to the eye, in accordance with my own ideas on the matter. I am alone, have found some good, sympathetic servants, and am now getting out my work again! -
You must admit that nothing can be done with a man like me! You should give him up for lost! -
While I was still looking, I thought: my God, what if Liszt were suddenly to write to say that he had found a beautiful apartment and garden for me in Rome - , would I go to Rome after all? — Yes, but reluctantly! - Why? - I cannot bear any further excitements, especially at the moment. It is an utter disgrace that I have lost so many precious years of work and creativity, so much so that I believe that such a mass of new impressions as Italy and Rome would afford me would throw me completely off the rails. Proudhon once said, in contrast to those people who expected the railways to work wonders for the intellectual development of mankind: “Le génie est sédentaire!” - So it is. Believe me. He who cannot create his own world out of little will still less be able to create one out of much. - And yet I say all this with a certain bitterness of renunciation: - heavens, how gladly would I, too, stretch out my limbs and let the wonderful world outside leave its mark upon me! But everyone has his own daemon, and mine is a horribly powerful beast; it completely & utterly subjugates me to its own ends.
Tell me, child! How can I have the poem of my Mastersingers forwarded to you? Make enquiries and let me know. - I am living here without any form of social contact, and wish only to be left in peace in order to be able to complete this nonsense on which I am working, without any further interruptions. Whether I shall ever perform any of it is a question to which I have finally grown utterly indifferent. Indeed, the fact that I did not have to go straight back to Tristan again following my Russian exertions (Frau Dustmann is indisposed) suited me admirably. Ultimately one has to live with the person one is: to be allowed a little self-respect is therefore the only thing with which we must be satisfied. -
Of course one should not then have to listen to such warm and eloquent accounts of wonders such as Michel Angelo etc.; for then one’s heart grows heavy, - it does indeed! - I may add, by way of consolation, that I read an Austrian newspaper every day and that whenever I see reports of the Polish uprising I always feel an involuntary sympathy with them, and even relapse into many of my old weaknesses. But in this I am like Göthe: I do not feel sufficient hatred to be capable of any real political fervour: and without it one is insufficient for any party. My God! do you imagine that there is a single educated person in Petersburg who does not regard the events in Poland as an abomination, and who does not speak & feel exactly the same as you and I? But “politics”, “government” - and all the rest of this confounded business, - yes - that is another matter - ! Well, believe me, you & I, we are not made for things like that: not even Garibaldi, and Bakunin still less; but Louis Napoleon most definitely. Well, just let people compare themselves to him! Ugh! -
Little Tausig is my only contact with the outside world: an intelligent and quite exceptional young man! In all seriousness he enquires most eagerly after his bride, and asks you to convey to Olga his most tender greetings! - If you can make any sense of the present season - (it is ghastly weather outside!) - , I should be heartily glad. Where should I begin to write you a sensible letter!
A thousand sincere good wishes!
Yours,
Rich. Wagner
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 289