a gift, in the full sense of the word.  These long explanations with the Hartels--my first contact with that world which would have to make the realisation of my enterprise possible—­were quite enough to bring me to my senses, and to make me recognize the chimeric nature of this undertaking.  You were the only person of importance, besides myself, who believed in its possibility, but probably for the reason that you also had not sufficiently realised its difficulties.  But the Hartels, who are to advance solid coin, have looked into the matter more closely, and are, no doubt, quite right in believing the performance of the work impossible, as the author did not even see his way to its completion without their help.

As regards myself, there was a time when I conceived, commenced, and half finished the work without the expectation of its being performed during my lifetime.  Even last winter your confident tone, as you took leave of me, and your hope of releasing me soon from my mute and soundless exile, gave me the courage (which by that time had become a difficult matter) to continue.  Such encouragement was indeed required, for, after having been without any stimulus, such as a good performance of one of my works might have given me, my position was, at last, becoming unbearable.  Our trials at the piano further contributed towards my becoming thoroughly conscious of the misery of such musical makeshifts; indeed, I felt that a good many things would be explained to myself only by a good performance.  Since then my last hope has vanished again, and a terrible bitterness has come over me, so that I can no longer have any faith in mere chance.  You, my rarest friend, do everything in your power to rouse me again in one way or other, and to sustain my freshness and love of work, but I know that all you say is only for this particular purpose.  So I have at last decided to help myself.  I have determined to finish at once “Tristan and Isolde” on a moderate scale, which will make its performance easier, and to produce it next year at Strassburg with Niemann and Madame Meyer.  There is a beautiful theatre there, and the orchestra and the other not very important characters I hope to get from a neighbouring German Court-theatre.  In that manner I must try (D.V.) to produce something myself and in my own way which will once more restore freshness and artistic conscientiousness to me.  Apart from this, such an undertaking offers me the only possible chance of sustaining my position.  It was only by a somewhat frivolous proceeding—­the sale of “Tannhauser” to the Josephstadt Theatre at Vienna—­that I succeeded in preserving my equilibrium, and this will soon again be threatened, or, at least, is so absolutely insecure, that I had to think of something which would free me from care.  For so much I may assume that a thoroughly practicable work, such as “Tristan” is to be, will quickly bring me a good income, and keep me afloat for a time.  In addition to this, I have a curious idea.  I