My King,
My beloved friend,
So must I take up my pen, that I may end a situation which cannot be allowed to last a moment longer if my very soul is not to be consumed!
What this state of mine must be my understanding friend may judge for himself! -
On the 6th of February this year, at 1 o’clock, a most terrible thing happened to me: I was turned away from the door of my august friend, having appeared there at his kind invitation, and was led back down to the courtyard. It was not my king’s indisposition but his great displeasure at me which was adduced as the reason for this rebuff. Ever since that day more and more rumours have been circulating concerning the disfavour I am said to have incurred. Finally, certain accusations have been clearly levelled at me, accusations which I have no hesitation in declaring complete fabrications and which - if necessary - I shall denounce as such in public. My most gloomy assumptions and most anxious doubts have been countered, finally, by my friend’s most gracious words which, in their kingly beauty and dignity, at once attest to the fact that my complete innocence has never for a moment been doubted, indeed - the whole tissue of lies may never even have affected my august friend. And yet no entreaty on the part of one who has suffered so much, nor any promise on that of my friend whose favours have made me supremely happy has so far led to the fulfilment of my most ardent wish, which is that I might approach my noble patron and speak with him face to face. Even the recent heaven-sent opportunity provided by the presence of the artist Schnorr, whom Your Majesty had Yourself summoned to Munich, was transformed - for reasons which I still fail to understand - into a rebuttal, directly involving a demonstrable lie, so that my affable singer, perplexed and saddened, found himself, like me, turned away from your door. -
During this period of bewilderment, certain written communications and effusions reached me from my august friend, showering me, as it were, with a heavenly radiance whose contents reveal to me a world of wonderment and beauty, a world of which my soul has only ever dreamt but which my astonished gaze has never yet beheld. I admit that the love which is here made manifest gives me no privileges, rather does it impose obligations upon me, sacred and sublime obligations which must render me utterly indifferent to my own well-being. Were I concerned solely for the latter, I should have no compelling reason to regard my situation as at all intolerable, even as things stand at present: - I may well hope that my public declarations are sufficient to defend myself against a repetition of the most unworthy attacks to which I have here been subjected in the most pitiless manner. The advantages of my external position, which I owe to the munificence of my noble patron, remain as before; nor has any perceptible hindrance been placed in the way of my artistic aims, since it must be evident to all that these aims are also those of the sublime friend of my art. And so, were I concerned solely for myself, I could easily follow the advice which I have been given, and allow the affair to run its course. - But I feel that the artist and the man in me, which ignorant fools would seemingly wish to separate, have become inextricably linked. My heart grows weary, and so my spirit, too, begins to sicken. I cannot, and may not, bear to remain apart from my adored friend, while knowing myself so close to him. Were I to tolerate this situation, I should inevitably suffer the self-reproach of believing that in some way I had abused your royal favour: I shudder at the insane falsehood of this reproach, and arm myself against it with the pride which is necessary to face far worse tribulations, rather than silently render myself culpable of so degrading an admission. -
Yet how shall I now express the thought which this pride inspires in me? How shall I explain my necessary resolve to this divinely pure heart which enfolds me in its heavenly goodness, and devotes its own happiness to my redemption?
Here is the fearful abyss! -
If everything here were not so profound, so noble and so divinely tender, how simple it might seem to a man as sorely tormented and aweary of life as I myself to call out to his gracious friend: -
“My King! - I have brought you disquiet: - let me go, let me leave you for some distant land, where the gaze of envy and ignorance will not pursue me: -
Apart - who can divide us?
Divided - still we are one! -
And yet - how can I bring myself to do this without causing my heart to break asunder, when, deep within that heart, I feel the place which I hold within your heart? I, who draws new life and renewed inspiration from a single glance from your eyes, - could I of all men misprize the boundless import of personal contact, of the closeness of one man to another? - Only he who is under a spell can himself cast spells: - I, too, feel what I am to my friend; - he alone can break the spell that lies upon me, - he alone can say to me: - “Be gone.” - I - cannot! -
What shall I do now? - I have poured out my heart: but how can I have unburdened it when I have merely shifted its burden to the heart of my friend? - What shall I do? What advice shall I give? —
Well then! - I know that hatred cannot show me the way out: - love alone can do so! My sacred, noble love for my angel! -
I cannot feel hatred! My strongest emotion in this direction is merely - loathing! - If, as a child, I flinched from the spider out of disgust, I have long since learnt to overcome even this feeling: I can explain the spider, I recognize its needs, its subjection to toil and suffering, like all living things; I may perhaps side against it to the extent of rescuing the fly which would otherwise be trapped in the predator’s web, but I could not possibly crush the spider itself, as I would have done as a child with a sense of passionate loathing! - Here you have my confession, my gracious friend! I can, and shall, forgive all who have had a hand in spinning this loathsome web which on this occasion has fallen apart of its own accord. I can understand the aberrations and fears which fill the ignorant and uninitiated with cares whose motives I would not interpret as wholly impure but which may even, perhaps, in part be justified: the fact that the artist is so little esteemed I am willing to ascribe to the disregard in which art itself is commonly held, a disregard for which there is, alas, justification enough in view of its present effectiveness, as I myself have had cause to realize. How could such people understand the mind of the wondrously gifted prince whom the stars themselves have chosen to see what none but he could see, that, on this occasion and in the case of this artist, the situation is quite unlike anything they have otherwise encountered, and utterly beyond their grasp? - Of course, it all makes sense to me: I can, and must, be fair. If I must impute an action to others, I do not accuse them of it: - I - forgive them, and know that repentance will be my reward. -
And so I declare that no one shall suffer at my hands: let deepest oblivion veil all that has happened! Not another word shall pass my lips on the matter. He who has dealt most perniciously with me shall be the first to see how intense are my efforts to gain his understanding and his respect - perhaps even his love.
This is my solemn declaration. -
I lay it reverently at my redeemer’s feet.
May it enable him to gaze into my eyes once more! For there is one thing alone that I seek to obtain, and must indeed do so: the free and unhindered enjoyment of the inspiriting company which my gracious friend and King alone can provide. -
Do I deserve this single privilege, for the sake of which I would gladly forgo all others in the eyes of the world? -
I - hope so!
Faithful unto death,
Richard Wagner
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 318