God knows, beloved friend, it is not my fault that the arrears of royalties were not sent to you sooner. Immediately on the arrival of your first receipt I betook myself to Teichmann, who put me off until the following day. To my surprise, I was then refused payment, with the explanation that the figures could not be filled in by a stranger, but must be written out in your own hand. Meanwhile there arrived a fresh receipt from you, in which these folk could find no blemish, and I hope that before these lines reach you, Goldstein will have placed the somewhat depleted balance in your hands. I have left your address at the theatre box-office with instructions that the official detailed statement should in future be sent to you direct, so that this kind of diffuseness may be avoided. I must still trouble you to send in the receipt for the third quarter of 1858 in order to stop the rabble’s grumblings. If I happen to be in Paris in the beginning of April, I shall arrange for Goldstein to receive the money in my place and dispatch it to Venice.
One thing more, to finish with the business: the one Tannhäuser performance brought in eleven hundred reichstalers, with a percentage of seventy-seven. After the second of Lohengrin there was a pause. The next (third) is on Friday, February 4, the fourth on Monday the 7th. You may certainly count upon working off the advance made to you by the end of the present quarter. The tickets are said to be all sold, up to and including the sixth performance. The house, except for the amphitheatre, was sold out for the second, which went better from the point of view of both artists and conductor. The orchestra bungled things several times, but the whole was quite tolerable, and in spite of many a musical box on the ear I had great enjoyment out of it, which I have never been able to say of any Tannhäuser performance here. The audience was more quiet and attentive than I have ever known Berlin opera-goers except in the case of their beloved Fidelio. Applause was certainly rare and attempts at it were promptly suppressed, but only in order that not a note might be missed. Vile as the criticisms were again, they at least declared Lohengrin to be a step forward and had to own that its success had been more definite and wide-spread than that of Tannhäuser. I enclose a notice from the Börsenzeitung, a much read and, largely on account of its Monday feuilleton, popular paper, chief organ of the aristocracy of finance, which forms the theatre audience par excellence. You will see by the opening that my private terrorizing has not been without its effect. I have missed seeing the Frommann several times and it must be a month now since I spoke to her. She has acted in a fairly idiotic way towards me, but, needless to say, I shall bear her no ill will. She has toned down a good deal and is insufferably polite.
You have, I hope, received my telegram, my letter, and a later one from my wife, as well as a pamphlet and Kossak’s article in a wrapper. The article I found very disappointing. The fellow is frivolous and timid at the same time. How we did butter him up! The magnificent dinner that I gave him with Frau von Milde and the artist Hildebrandt seems to have been rather thrown away. A horrible race, yet one has to clutch at such straws, and I have therefore invited him again, but this time my wife—who has the art—is going to make a few piquant remarks ad hominem.
We only heard some details, after the event, of the unpleasant episode with Liszt. Thank God it has all blown over. You are quite right to be a little diplomatic with him at times. He has grown extremely suspicious. But indeed he never knows who will betray or disavow him from one day to the next. Then think of this rain of missiles from all the papers. It is piteous and shameful, and it must not go on. I shall do what I can. My recent little state prank may have borne fruit in some quarters. They see that they have determined fellows to deal with; a few drops of blood now and then would do no harm. I for my part shall not avoid any occasions for blood-letting.
Some time I must tell you a few details which are not without interest from the cultural-historical view-point. In Lohengrin, for instance, I made various experiments, unfortunately without success. Listen, then: you remember an article that Adolf Stahr once wrote on Lohengrin from Weimar? It appeared first in the Nationalzeitung. When I told him he ought to publish it in pamphlet form, as there would be an enormous sale for it, the swine evaded me in the most cowardly and stupid way. At last he referred me to Dr. Zabel, editor of the Nationalzeitung. I approached him and found him at first not disinclined. Nothing happened, however, and it was only a few days ago that I heard the solution of the mystery. Among the principal shareholders is a certain banker, Gumprecht, brother of the blind music-critic of the paper, and he absolutely refused to have Stahr’s article specially printed; his brother would not accept such a smack in the face, but would immediately resign. In which case the banker-brother would likewise have resigned his post as shareholder! What mud, what filth, O Jehovitsch!
Have just received Karl’s entertaining letter. That is, it came yesterday, but I was at Brandenburg, where I gave a concert to improve my finances (forty-five reichstalers). Not too bad. I will reply as soon as I have time. Meanwhile, please thank him most sincerely in my name. His letter was not only a pleasure, but just what I needed to buck me up.
February 14 is my third orchestral concert. Appel au peuple. It’s going to be a great surprise for everyone, and no doubt will end in a battle of sorts. We may even come to blows—it doesn’t take long. No good scolding me. God knows this Babel needs it. The air must be cleared. You are represented by the Faust Overture; I myself shall sit at the pianoforte a good deal. More soon (after the third performance).
PS. My wife has just come along to send enthusiastic greetings. She adds that you are please not to take her crazy letter amiss; she is really ashamed to have sent it. The dear child was made so happy by Lohengrin. She loves you too, you know. We both wept together!
Source: Letters of Hans von Bülow to Richard Wagner, Cosima Wagner, His Daughter Daniela, Luise von Bülow, Karl Klindworth, Carl Bechstein, ed. Richard Count Du Moulin Eckart, trans. Hannah Waller, ed. Scott Goddard (Alfred A. Knopf, 1931), No. 280