As regards honorarium, I have entreated him to procure me the best possible terms, as these operas are my only capital, and I must mainly rely upon the great court theatres.  I have, however, made no definite demand, having full confidence in him.  You know Dingelstedt intimately, and you would oblige me by asking him to get me something substantial, royalties in preference.  Before all, I should wish to have some money before the end of this month, either as an advance on these royalties or, if that is impossible, as the final purchase money, in which case I think I might ask a hundred louis d’or. (Dresden always used to pay me sixty louis d’or; but as “Tannhauser” has everywhere proved a great draw, I think I might expect the lump sum of a hundred louis d’or from so great a court theatre as Munich.) He is probably on his travels now, but if you address to the care of W. Schmidt, inspector of the Court Theatre, the letter will, I think, be forwarded to him.  Do not be angry with me.

It is only a friend like you whom one can ask to be of active help to others while he himself is in such a painful position as you, poor man, seem to be.  Although I have a general idea of your situation, I am very desirous to know precisely how your affairs and those of your dear ones really stand.  I feel aggrieved because you touch upon them always in a very cursory manner.  From all I can make out, I must fear that the Princess has been cut off from her estate permanently and completely, and I must own that such losses are well adapted to upset one’s equanimity.  I also understand that you look into the future with a heavy heart, as the fate of a most lovable, youthful being is equally involved.  If you had to inform me that you three dear ones were now quite poor and solitary, even then I could not be very sorry--so stupid am I—­especially if I saw that you had kept up your courage.  My dearest, dearest, unique Franz, give me the heart, the spirit, the mind of a woman in which I could wholly sink myself, which could quite comprehend me.  How little should I then ask of this world.  How indifferent would be to me this empty glitter, which, in my despair, I have latterly again been tempted to gather round me as a diversion of my fancy.  If I could live with you in beautiful retirement, or, which would be the same thing, if we could live here wholly for each other instead of frittering our beings away with so many insipid and indifferent people, how happy I should be.  And “off and on” we should be sure to undertake something to give vent to our energies in the outer world.

But I am talking wildly.  Correct me if I deserve it; I shall never be anything but a fantastic good-for-nothing.

Has Eugene sent you my medallion?  It is not bad, only a little sickly.

I shall soon have to write again; I have more materials than I can deal with today.