Good Peschke!
Is the neck-band ready? How ever will you commence with the black toupet? Whence will you get your pleasant face? Whence your bent complimentary back? There will be a sad falling off, from Peschke I. to Peschke II.! I do not think that you can bow right and left, with such severe encouragement, whilst fiddling. Only one request does my wife make — that you do not forget, if you wish to show yourself worthy of your new position, No. 5 out of the green, and No. 7 out of the red book! These pieces are to be the real triumphal marches of Peschke I. So do not forget.
Dramatic-music-fiddling fellow! You do well to accept the position. I respect all your reasons; only one thing I make a point of: insist on leave of absence, otherwise it is all up with you, and I shall become furiously angry with you. Put forward the plea of health! I can really not give up either wishing or hoping to see you once every year. I look upon the fulfilment of this wish as dependent only upon the possibility of leave of absence: so far as the rest is concerned, you must allow me to say a word or two. For example, I expect you to be present when I give my great summer concert in Zurich next year; I engage you for that purpose; and some extra receipts to be made by that time ("together with a fair honorarium") shall provide me with the means of paying your fee. So make Lüttichau acquainted with this, and ask for leave of absence for July 1852.
And so with the increase of salary you receive at the same time an enormously fat boy, without my knowing anything beforehand? Who understands better than you how to arrange such things! Everything fits in admirably, and for the 150 thalers a new mouth is found to swallow them up. Had you not already named the new son Siegfried, I would now counsel you to have him baptized Peschke. Perhaps both names suit well together — so salute Peschkesiegfried!
Now to business!
I thought you would write to Frau P. in the way indicated: it is to get rid of uncertainty, if only in matters of small moment.
As Härtels are going to engrave the score, it is perhaps best for Wölfel to finish the copy commenced from the theatre score; only there seems to be no hurry in the matter. So send me the copy as far as it is ready, and for the reason which I gave you in my last letter. I hope Wölfel will by this time have got on as far as the beginning of the third act; if not, let him write out quickly the orchestral introduction to this act and the bridal song, so that I may promptly have in my possession all that I shall require for my concert. The rest he can write out at his leisure! For this winter no theatre will think of giving Lohengrin, and later on the printed score will be ready, so that Wölfel's copy has practically become a luxury (even Brussels makes no sign!), and I can only use it privately. So far, good! Now let me proceed!
I have not yet received the pianoforte score: Härtels are sending it by carrier! (It never occurs to such people to send on one copy by post.) I have ordered a copy of the "three opera poems" for Rühlmann. Kind greetings to him from me, and give him my best thanks for his letter: he must forgive me if I do not answer it at once.
What is the meaning of all that you write concerning the "Critic of the Gegenwart"? I know nothing at all about it.
Frau R. has now endowed me so liberally with scores and silver plate, that I am devilishly inclined to make my house as comfortable as possible! Please say to our friend that I am exceedingly thankful to her for her gifts, and especially for her last kind letter: in everything she has given me great, great joy.
Dear friend, I cannot possibly send anything to X.! It is not that I lack a general desire, but I am not at present in the humour to write anything for the Musik. Zeitung. I could only bring myself to write spitefully, for nothing else repays one for the trouble! And my malice would have fallen on X. himself, whom among others I should have had to inform that he makes a great mistake if, for example, he thinks that he has understood me in my Art and Revolution, when he bravely waxes wroth at my unjust judgment of the past post-Grecian art periods, and reproaches me for having regarded them only through their modern caricature. In so doing, he does not reflect that this very caricature is precisely the most obvious, most forcible physiognomy of the real unnaturalness of our whole art-culture, the root of which sticks fast just there, where Brendel thinks he most must riot over it. How, too, can an "impartial critic" so entirely overlook my main contention, which in my pamphlet is clearly expressed, viz., that the difference between the Grecian and our own art-period consists just in this — that, at that time, Art was in harmony with the public conscience, and was cherished by it; whilst now true Art (the actuality of which I there assume) must proclaim itself in opposition to our public opinion and customs, and therefore (end and conclusion of my whole investigation) be revolutionary? How superficial X. is when he becomes profound!
Enough! I could not write anything without expressing my contempt for all our art-doings — and especially for that music for which, in truth, a musical paper is solely intended — by such hard-dealt right- and left-handed blows as to bring Brendel into fresh trouble; for I should not only — as was actually the case in the Judenthum — attack the abstract species, but give a good sound hiding to individuals themselves. Now that my books are out, however, I can no longer possibly feel any inclination for general reflections. If X. wants something mild of mine, let him print my letter to Liszt on the Goethe foundation. You could at once ask Liszt for this letter, stating your purpose, and that I am agreeable. If Liszt wishes to strike out anything relating to himself, he may act according to his judgment. Only I do not care to have the letter put before me again, so I place the matter in your hands. (One name must be altered: "Schöll," not "Schölcher.")
My dear friend, you will shortly hear of things which will enable you to understand why I have now completely given up every attempt to fight against the reigning stupidity, dulness, and wretchedness: I shall let that which is rotten rot, and shall use my remaining powers in production and enjoyment, and not in distressful and quite hopeless attempts to galvanize the corpse of European civilization. I have only a mind to live, to enjoy — i.e., to work as an artist, and produce my works: but not for the mud brains of the common herd. As I cannot here develop my ideas at proper length, I must still keep secret the watchword of my purpose — and, it is to be hoped, of the purpose common to many — in order not to be misunderstood. So farewell for to-day!
Your
R. W.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to His Dresden Friends, Theodor Uhlig, Wilhelm Fischer, and Ferdinand Heine, trans. J. S. Shedlock (Scribner & Welford, 1890), No. 49