Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt, vol 2 | Page 6

visitors, and taste the
delightful sensation of having surrendered the noblest work of my life
so far to the predetermined stupidity of our theatrical mob and to the
laughter of the Philistine.
Lord, how must I appear to myself? I wish that at least I had the
satisfaction that some one knew how I appear to myself.
Listen, my Franz; you must help me! I am in a bad, a very bad, way. If
I am to regain the faculty of holding out (this word means much to me),
something thorough must be done in the direction of prostituting my art
which I have once taken, otherwise all is over with me. Have you
thought of Berlin again? Something must be done there if all is not to
come to a stop.
Before all, I must have money. The Hartels have been very liberal, but
what is the good of hundreds where thousands are needed? If the Berlin
purchase had come to something, I might at least have used the offer in
order to prove to a man of business here that I possessed "capital," and
to induce him to lend me the necessary sum for three years, paying
back one-third every year. But this hope also has vanished. No one will
undertake such an affair unless he has personal confidence in my future
(?) successes. Such a man, dearest Franz, you must find for me. Once
more, I want from 3,000 to 4,000 thalers in order to find perfect rest
and equipoise. That much my operas may well bring me in in three
years IN CASE something real is done for "Lohengrin," so as to save it.
I am willing to lease my rights to the lender; my rights in "Tannhauser"
and "Lohengrin" shall be secured to him in any way he thinks desirable
or necessary. If I am not worthy of such a service, then you must own
that I am in a bad way, and all has been a mistake! Help me over this,
and I will undertake once more to hold out.
Dear friend, do not be angry. I have a claim on you as on my creator.
You are the creator of the person I am now; I live through you: it is no
exaggeration. Take care of your creation. I call this a duty which you
have towards me.

The only thing I want is money; that at least one ought to be able to get.
Love I abandon, and art!
Well, the "Rhinegold" is ready, readier than I ever thought it would be.
I went to this music with so much faith, so much joy; and with a true
fury of despair I continued, and have at last finished it. Alas! the need
of gold held me too in its net. Believe me, no one ever has composed in
this manner; my music, it seems to me, must be terrible; it is a slough
of horrors and sublimities.
I shall soon make a clean copy, black on white, and that will probably
be the end of it; or shall I give permission to have this also performed
at Leipzig for twenty louis d'or? I cannot write more to you today. You
are the only person to whom I could tell such a thing; no one else has
an idea of it, least of all the people near me.
Do not think that the news of Leipzig has made me suddenly desperate.
I anticipated this, and knew everything beforehand. I can also imagine
that the Leipzig failure may still be repaired, that "it is not as bad as we
think," and much more to the same effect. It may be, but let me see
evidence. I have no faith, and only one hope: sleep, sleep, so profound,
so profound, that all sensation of the pain of living ceases. That sleep at
least is within my reach; it is not so difficult to get.
Good heavens, I give you bad blood as well! Why did you ever come
across me?
The present of the Princess caused me a smile,--a smile over which I
could shed tears. I shall write to her when I have lived through a few
more days; then I shall also send you my portrait, with a motto, which
might make you feel awkward after all. How are you? Burn this letter:
it is godless; but I too am godless. Be you God's saint, for in you alone
I still have faith. Yea! yea! and once more yea!
Your
R. W.

January 15th, 1854
Something must be done in London; I will even go to America to
satisfy my future creditor; this too I offer, so that I may finish my
"Nibelungen."

145.
My dearest Franz,
I write once more to try whether