Dear Friend,
What I have to report to-day shall be addressed to yourself, to take this opportunity of telling you how thankful I am for your many friendly offices. Gladly would I write you in a better humour, as I know that news of my welfare could but rejoice your sympathetic heart: but even to reach that good end I'll make no use of lies, and therefore confess to you at once that, if you still nurse hopes of my earthly prospering, I can give those hopes but little nourishment. London is a very large and rich city, and the English are exceptionally shrewd, self-possessed and intelligent: but unhappy I have nothing to do with them! Through their taking me for something quite other than I am, things will go on for a time without much friction; and as I am by no means inclined to tear them suddenly from their illusion out of sheer vanity, I only hope that time may slip by rapidly. Once again: I have nothing to do here. If you ask, however, where I should have anything to do, I answer: There where I have to keep least company!
Here, on the contrary, I am advised to call on so-and-so, for instance Davison (Times), Chorley, etc.; I am told they are [...] indeed, but have their influence, and that it would be a pity for me to let my abilities and talents run to waste here. I don't know what you think about it; but I can't help thinking I have nothing at all to seek here, with all my talents, and for that I certainly don't need the introduction of those gentry. If I were to wish to be installed here as conductor of the Philharmonic for a series of years, there's little doubt but that I could easily effect it, for the people see that I am a good conductor: but that would be all the delight I could gain here; beyond it there is nothing. Of any particular interest in my operas and a good sound German theatre, especially on the part of the Court, there is not the remotest prospect, and certainly no one here arrives at any kind of interest in a thing unwonted. This you may see by the people's very nature. True art is something utterly strange to them, and they assuredly are not to be caught by anything but its incomings and outgoings. [...] The equanimity with which these persons listened to the singing of a wearisome duet by Marschner, for instance, just thirty seconds after the close of the Eroica, was an altogether new experience to me: all the world assured me that no one took the least offence at it; and exactly as the symphony, so was the duet applauded. This by the way.
My only source of satisfaction I had set in my intercourse with the orchestra, which is highly attached to me, and in the hope of fine performances themselves. For one thing, I made much account of my having been allowed two rehearsals for the next concert, because I hoped it would give me the opportunity of taking the orchestra thoroughly in hand. But yesterday's first rehearsal has dashed that hope as well, since I have learnt to see that even two rehearsals are too few for my object. After all, I had to pass by many a weighty point, and recognise that I shall never be able to retrieve it in one further chief rehearsal — so that I shall have to content myself with a very relatively good performance of the Ninth Symphony. As regards my compositions from Lohengrin, this time I have felt to my great distress what a mournful thing it is for me to have to keep appearing before the public with such absolutely meagre extracts from this work: I seemed to myself quite absurd, as I know how little the people can learn of me and my work from these sample snips with which I already am travelling just like a commis voyageur. And to think that it is my best years that I thus am spending on a wholly cramped and shut-off sphere of artistic action! I would far rather renounce all attempt at outward action, for I alone can feel the torture of it!
Under such circumstances the only satisfaction left me, would be to have done something for my outward lot: it would be a good thing for me if I could. But how, unless by stealing? How fat my purse will grow on my concert-honorarium, we shall see; in spite of my dear apartment, I have no absolute extravagance in view, and consequently hope to save. But, for this and every time, that's all! An Act of Parliament was lately passed, according to which there is to be no more copyright in works that have already appeared abroad: only for such as, written in England or for England, make their first appearance here. So the first thing to greet me here was an exquisite translation of the Star of Eve and Lohengrin's Rebuke to Elsa, published by Ewer; and I am informed that a further complete selection of my vocal pieces is contemplated in the immediate future. Everyone seems to have the right to reprint them as he pleases. Consequently I very much regret the "carriage" I recently paid for getting these things sent to me in England.
Dearest friend, give up any idea of making me "independent"; all my life I shall remain a lump — that is to say, in the English meaning — and therefore can only wish that no one, in his turn, will depend on me; for whoever depends on me will not get along very easily. That's the long and the short of it! Perhaps, however, I soon shall give up art entirely; then all will be well. 'Tis it alone that still holds me fast to illusions at times, which can have none but bad results for me. Periodically it makes me a little light-headed, and you know that light-headedness is good for nobody, least of all for him who gives way to it. Assuredly — but a little more and I once for all shall be in the position to radically plug that source of all the foolishness in my existence. Already I have cause enough; the griefs my art itself prepares me, by far outweigh the rare entrancements it affords me. It needs but little, nay, one sole thing, and I give this game up too: there then will be a likelihood, tho' of another kind than some might think.
I called on Herr B. in the city; the day after to-morrow he will send his carriage to take me to his residence outside the town. At any rate you had given me a good introduction. To tell the truth, both he and his belong to the party of the Times, in musical things as well: his wife is a connection of Mendelssohn's, as whose adversary people insist on regarding me, notwithstanding that I have been assured that they had never heard his overture to the Hebrides so well as under my direction. The B.'s, for the rest, have the reputation here of a very rich art (?)-loving house; we shall see. In any case I thank you for your friendly intention.
Otherwise, and up to now, my dearest London acquaintance is the first violinist Sainton, a Toulousian, fiery, good-hearted and charming. He alone is the cause of my summons to London. He has lived here for years in the most intimate friendship with a German, Lüders; the latter had read my art-writings, and they prepossessed him so much in my favour that he communicated them to Sainton as well as possible, and both came to the conclusion that I must be an able man and no mistake; so when Sainton proposed me to the directors, and was asked how he knew me, he told a lie: that he had seen me conduct, because, as he says, the true reason for his conviction about me would have been unintelligible to the gentlemen. After the first rehearsal, when Sainton embraced me in an ecstasy, I could not help calling him a téméraire who might think himself lucky he hadn't been found out this time. This man is most agreeable to me. After yesterday's rehearsal, noticing my great exhaustion and concern, he would hear of nothing but accompanying me home and waiting till I had changed my clothes, when he countermanded my solitary house-dinner and marched me off to his rooms, where I dined quite comfortably with him and Lüders en garçon, till I grew of somewhat better humour. Such a man in London, among the English, is a perfect oasis in the desert. Anything more objectionable than the genuine English stamp, on the other hand, I cannot conceive: they one and all have the type of the sheep; and just as certain as the instinct of the sheep for finding out its fodder on the meadow, is the Englishman's practical sense; his fodder he finds, to be sure, but the whole lovely field, with the blue heavens above it, unfortunately, is non-extant for his organ of perception. Amid them, then, how miserable must anyone feel who only sees the field and sky, but, alas! is bad at spying out the clover.
I am also very pleased with a young musician, Klindworth, introduced to me by Liszt: if the fellow only had a tenor voice, I should carry him off without conditions, for he otherwise has everything, and especially the whole exterior, for Siegfried. For the rest, I now have a splendid Erard grand in the house; I had to have a standing-desk, for writing at, expressly made for me by a carpenter: nowhere was such a thing to be got ready-made. So I am set up for my work since a few days back, but I have only been able to make a poor beginning as yet; the interruption was too great and violent: at the first my composition [Walküre] had become a total stranger to me. Let us hope I shall find myself again — or am I to give it up entirely?
My God, what a jumble I'm writing you; see what you can make of it. — Your cigar-case is regularly filled for me now by Sainton with excellent wares.
I am hoping much for fine spring weather; my chilled condition will certainly not yield before. I then should like to make a few excursions; yet I suppose I shall have to forego everything, not to derange my present system of the strictest economy by what at any rate would much increase my budget of expenses; for without a terrible amount of money one cannot get about at all here: that you don't seem quite to know.
Please give my best love to my wife, from whom I had a letter yesterday, and give her whatever of rational news you may find in this letter, to which I must refer her for to-day. She is to rest assured — please tell her this — that she is a thousand times better off at Zurich than I in London, and that I am simply looking forward to my return.
To aunt Wesendonck and cousin Myrrha give my best regards: that everything goes well, splendidly and capitally — to be sure, that's what they ought to think. For the rest, you must greet your honourable Sunday guests, and tell the Baumgartners that there is gute Wy in London too. A thousand thanks for your loyalty and hearty friendship; if you mean to give me up some day, let me know in good time; I then shall stay in London! — Farewell, and remain fond of
Your
R. Wagner.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to Wesendonck et al., trans. and indexed by William Ashton Ellis (Grant Richards, 1899), No. 5