Dear Friend,
Here follows once more a whole load. Don't be angry if it overburdens you. I thought you would like to look through my new work before it came, in ceremonious fashion, before the world: so read it and communicate with Heine, so that we may lose as little time as possible with it: you might read half and communicate to Heine the first half read, while you go on with the second. Then I beg you to send the manuscript to young R. at Leipzig: he might read it quickly through and afterwards deliver it, with the letter, to Wigand. The treatise, as you see, has become somewhat bulky: if on certain points I have not been concise, on the other hand I have been compelled to leave much unnoticed — I hope, however, only what is not of characteristic importance. Now you have it in your hand; read it, and you will see best for yourself! I am not inclined to make any changes. One must not question a thing once out: excellencies and defects, for the most part, stand in proper relationship to one another.
As in this writing I communicate to you my whole history up to the present day, I find it almost unnecessary to write much besides to you. But I consider it specially necessary to thank you heartily for your letters; in respect to which, however, I always regret that your money-bag is really becoming the victim of enormous postages — as, for example, the time before last. Do be more prudent. From your last letter I perceive particularly your anxiety to obtain favourable notices of my literary works. Do not trouble so much about them. Only one thing is important — that they be read as much as possible; and what will tend to this pleases me. That they should be attacked is quite natural, and a matter of indifference to me. I bring no reconciliation to worthlessness, but war to the knife. Now as our public life is full of worthlessness, and specially so with regard to professional artists and literary men, I can in this present time only find friends among those who are quite removed from this ruling publicity. Here there is nothing to convince, to win over: extermination is the only cure. To accomplish this in time, we shall receive the necessary strength if, as disciples of a new religion, we learn to know ourselves, and by mutual love strengthen our faith. Let us stick fast to youth; let old age kick the bucket, there is nothing to be got from it.
This will have been my last literary work. There would be much to look over again, as I, for the most part, only traced general outlines. If I had to do this alone, it would only be a proof that I had not discovered the right. If that be so, nothing further is of any avail; but if I have been understood, and if I have convinced others — even if few in number — others must and will make everything complete in the matter. That is the work of many, not of one. I count particularly on you.
I have not yet received anything from Wigand. I have not yet been able to get even a copy of my pamphlet: yet at the bookseller's shop I am assured that a parcel for me has been advised. Only I happened once to turn over the leaves of somebody else's copy of Art and Revolution, and soon found, to my distress, many misprints. Conformably to our pedantic custom, I have written certain words in my new manuscript in capital letters, in order — especially in the philosophical part — to avoid compositors' mistakes: but I beg Wigand, nevertheless, perhaps to send it to you for correction, and I am sure, with your great conscientiousness, to be well guarded against misprints.
Your news always interests me; but in order to spare you, and to draw your attention only to what appears most important to you, I let you know that through the papers we get pretty exact news of political events in our dear home. Not so about the everlasting art-movement: but even newspapers I intentionally seldom read. These things become to me more foreign and indifferent every day.
I ought long ago to have received the musical paper: the person who promised it continues to dilly-dally. I will very soon add fuel to flame.
I am not in such good humour as last summer; autumn and winter are not my friends. Besides, there are the cares of life — this is the name, you know, for money worries. I cannot think of earnings, and I have lost all hope of support. Something of mine will be played at Paris, at a Conservatoire concert. Even if I fix my eyes on Paris, I must not think for a long time of success and fees. Besides, I have now a strong desire to really begin an artistic work, and to be able to stick to it: how, under the circumstances, I can satisfy that desire, I know not. So I hang between heaven and hell; and besides, I have a strong inclination to cast myself into hell, where, at least during the winter, I should be warm. I feel very lonely!
I wished to write to Fürstenau; or rather, as he wished, to my artistic friends in the band and theatre at Dresden. I rejoice at the thought of doing it, but put it off to another time in order to do it better than I possibly could to-day. Give my best salutations to all, and communicate to them my design with regard to them. Hähnel has not yet come: I should be delighted to see him, and I thank you for the information. Dear friend, I promised you a proper letter: this time accept my precious manuscript in its place. Of matters personal there is not much to say, and general matters are touched upon in the manuscript. Besides, I am weary of work, and somewhat melancholy. What good can come of it? Do not answer evil with evil; and rest assured that I love you heartily, and am truly glad to have won you from your coyness to be one of my friends.
Farewell, and expect soon something better from me than I give to-day.
Your
Richard Wagner.
N.B. Were it possible to start a newspaper, perhaps under the title For Art and Life, I would willingly contribute to it, in order to help to propagate the new principles far and wide. One day I must say more about this matter.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to His Dresden Friends, Theodor Uhlig, Wilhelm Fischer, and Ferdinand Heine, trans. J. S. Shedlock (Scribner & Welford, 1890), No. 4