Dear Uncle,
If you go on at this rate, you will soon advance to the rank of my father! I was on the point of writing you about everything, from the Creation of the World to the evolution of English Music, when your last letter arrived, compelling me to begin a little more promptly and precisely. So:
What may be the meaning of Punch's witticism, I know not; but I can assure you that I have accepted no money on bills of exchange. On the contrary, after the second concert Mr. Anderson called on Sainton with the question whether he knew how they were to proceed about my honorarium, whereon S. answered him: "How should I know? Faîtes ce que vous voulez!" Thereupon Mr. Anderson sent me a cheque for £50 as fee for the first two concerts, which I cashed at once, and expect to manage with for a long while yet. Consequently what Punch may mean need as little disquiet you as it concerns myself: neither has anybody said a word to me about it, nor had I myself yet read it. Perhaps I shall find out the meaning, and then will tell you.
Well, let us get on from English business to English music; by which — as you will have gathered from Punch — one has likewise to understand nothing but business. You, also, seem to cherish the silent hope that I shall make English music after all, i.e. good business here. My letter about the second concert seems to have put that in your head again. Now, however unpractical and un-man-of-the-worldly I may appear to you, this time at least I would recommend a little sobriety and moderation to my enthusiastic friends, and beg them to expect nothing from me in the way of English music. It may perhaps be true, that my music pleased the public the other night; in fact, I find that still substantiated. Very good! But there's the end of it. Precisely in the same way as my music does the most wearisome stuff please the public; and exactly as my performances are applauded, are executions of the vilest sort acclaimed next day. So that I might consider myself to have soared to the height of the wretchedest music-making here, to be standing on a level with the other local heroes: that would be something! But it then would be a question of exploiting this standpoint to do precisely what the others do, in order to profit by their recognition; nay, I should have to be able to do it better than they, if I meant to gain anything by it. But there, dear friend, we come to the point where I am good for nothing. Under powerful guidance, and inspiring instruction, I should have to end by becoming a scamp among scamps: oh, what does a man not learn when he has a goal, an object before his eyes, that he imperatively must attain! But the worst of it is, with the best of wills I can spy out no object to attain thereby. My objects, dearest Uncle, lie somewhere else, and far as heaven away from all that one can here attain! I imagined you knew that. — Never mind! I am here, and will hold out to the eighth concert: — beyond that, you surely don't expect more of me??
You wish for newspapers? Yes, but what are they to contain? Something to enable you to strew sand in people's eyes about my successes here? For that the Illustrated News and Daily News alone would be of use: these are furnished by the paid secretary of the Philharmonic with laudatory articles on the society's concerts, and consequently on my doings also. A few other reporters find the tone of Messrs. D. and C. too impertinent, and for that reason give temporising accounts, in which I am left with this or that good trait, but per contra this or that bad one is not gainsaid. The capability of judging me, or even impartially hearing what I give them to hear, I disallow to them all. But, for knowing what they want, the two aforesaid bear the palm: they are paid to keep me down, and thus they earn their daily bread, which is not so cheap in London as some Americans believe. Of the good-for-nothingness, shamelessness, corruption and vulgarity of the local press, everyone who lives here is so firmly convinced, that — candidly speaking — I do not even care to soil my hands by touching such a paper. Those who understand anything, and really possess an independent opinion, never mingle with this gang. Thus I have been assured that a certain clumsy veering on the part of the reporter to the Morning Post, after the second concert, was to have been predicted, and just because the Times, etc., had fallen so remorselessly foul of me, which forced the man to be more prudent, as no one likes to quarrel outright with the other; for the time always comes when they need each other's services. To the editoriate of the Times itself, however, D.'s invective appears to have been too strong and coarse; wherefore it did not adopt his report on the second concert. It is just possible that this unexpected occurrence may restore a little courage to the other papers next time, and a movement in my favour may again be observable: possibly in this way, and with a continued friendliness of the public proper, everyone at last may turn round in my favour, to which some manœuvre or other of the Philharmonic — which itself is fighting for its own existence — might contribute much; possibly, therefore, you yet may gain the right of saying: "I told you so. That's the way of the world, and thus you come at last to recognition." Everything is possible. — But I? What object have I with it all? To conduct symphonies, which — to be candid — I only made my métier at Zurich by way of exception, and to please yourselves: and what besides? The Tannhäuser-march and an overture of mine? And then?? O, it's good!
My temper — not exactly sweet, as you see — by no means comes of my having expected anything here, and now being disappointed: but through others persisting in expecting something from an utterly fruitless conflict of my nature with a nature wholly alien to me. For my own part, I have already found the needful calm to look at the thing with indifference and irony, and wait till it all comes to end. The fine weather will arrive, I shall frequently go and see the wild beasts [in the "Zoo"], and march home at last with a few pence saved. What would one more?
Ah, the lovely music that is made here! The other evening I was at a concert of the New Philharmonic Society; there you had a whole string of overtures, symphonies, concertos, choruses, arias, and so on — a perfect joy: all conducted by Dr. W., click-clack till the thing ran out, which was fairly late: audience applauding, as ever. And in all the next day's papers this concert was the finest of the whole season; directly after the second concert conducted by me, precisely the same praise was dealt to this concert by my most favourable reporter, as to mine. Don't you think I ought to send you these newspapers?
The real delight of the English, however, is Oratorio: there their music becomes the interpreter of their religion — passez moi le mot! Four hours long do they sit in Exeter Hall, listening to one fugue after another in perfect confidence that they have discharged a good deed, in reward for which they will get nothing whatever to hear in Heaven but the loveliest Italian operatic arias. It was this deep fervour of the English public that Mendelssohn gauged so well when he composed and conducted oratorios; for which reason he now has become the veritable Saviour of the English music-world. Mendelssohn is to the English completely what their Jehovah is to the Jews. And Jehovah's wrath now strikes the unbelieving me; for you know that, among other great qualities, the dear God of the Jews is also credited with very much rancour. Davison is the high priest of this wrath-of-God. What would Aunt say to my writing an oratorio for Exeter Hall?
But I really must tell you something about the family B. It will be no small job, as this family is very large, lives at Camberwell, eight miles from my apartment, and regularly assembles every Saturday in the strength of about a quarter of a hundred heads. He is quite a nice man, bourgeois from head to foot, well-meaning and musical; She is a connection of Mendelssohn's — shrewd, distant and not bad; daughters, sons, brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, nieces and cousins, all sit down to tea after dinner — quite differently from your house — and get two or three other relations to play and sing to them — naturally nothing but Mendelssohn. I have survived this experience twice already: for next Sunday, alas! I have an engagement. What the quarter-of-a-hundred wants with me, has probably not grown clear to it as yet; perhaps it will discover in lapse of time. I fancy B.'s benevolence will also find expression in a snug manipulation of the Press; if a right substantial article should come to light in this way, I will forward it to you. At present the only object of interest to send you would be the programme of the second concert with the translation for Lohengrin and the explanation of the Ninth Symphony. But in this country such a thing — if not a journal — is prohibited sous bande, and in a letter it might come a little dear to you just now, when you are beginning to build your new house. You see, I am passionately bent on frugality. —
God, what else had I got to tell you? — Really I can think of no right thing more. — Your long letter I have accepted with great thanks as the outpouring of the heart of a friend, and have mastered everything contained therein, with exception of the consolation, for which I no longer have a working organ. If I am to have good courage to live cheerfully for my inner vocation as artist, assurances of friendship such as yours will contribute no little to its revival; of that rest assured!
Please thank Aunt kindly also, and assure her that I shall hold out. Only, it goes slowly with my work: I have almost entirely forgotten my composition, and often had to cogitate for long how I once meant this or that in it: here I have completely lost the inner memory. The day before yesterday I very laboriously got through with the first act, and already am contenting myself with the hope of finishing at least the second act as well here; the third, however, I must save for Seelisberg, where I unfortunately shall not be able to begin Young Siegfried; I shall be happy if I rediscover my work itself there, and regain the courage for Young Siegfried. Believe me — I ought not to have come to London! That's the result, quand on n'a pas l'esprit de son âge — as you have given me to understand. Tut! it will all turn out well, and I shall bring 1000 frs. with me: so the whole affair has its reward; how many a poor wretch brings himself to the scaffold for much less!
Best greetings to my old woman: to-day she has heard how I am lodged here. Greet Myrrha too, and — remain good to me, even if I can't send beautiful newspaper-articles so soon! Would that I could say: To our speedy reunion!
Your
R. W.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to Wesendonck et al., trans. and indexed by William Ashton Ellis (Grant Richards, 1899), No. 6