That is once more a dark, hopeless complaint!  To help or to look on calmly—­the one is almost as impossible to me as the other.

After the experiences I have had, and of which I told you only the smaller part, I can scarcely believe that the King of Saxony will perform the act of grace desired by us.  However, I will try again.  Send me your letter to his Majesty.  I hope it will be placed before him soon and in the best possible way.  Our Grand Duke is for the moment absent, and I shall not be able to see him before next week.  Write to me at once, and concoct your letter for Dresden, which you must send to me open.

I have looked out for the copyist you require for your “Nibelungen.”  It is difficult to find the proper individual who could undertake such a task.  I know several young men who would willingly try, but they are not sufficiently skilful and competent.  I have sent a message to one of my former friends at Berlin asking him whether he could place himself at your disposal.  With him you would be quite satisfied.  In case my inquiry leads to a favourable result, I will let you know.  You ask me how I am ...

“When need is highest, God is highest.”

Do not be anxious about my indisposition; it will soon be over, and my legs have to carry me a good way further still.

Your

F. Liszt.

153.

Dear, dear Franz,

I can never complain to you again.  I go on worrying you with my confidences in a sinful manner, while you keep your own grief to yourself.  My troublesome candour knows no bounds; every drop of the fount of my sorrow I pour out before you, and—­I must hope that that is the very reason why you are so silent as to your own circumstances.  But I begin to feel that the best remedy for our sufferings is sympathy with those of others.  My only sorrow today is that you hide your grief from my sympathy.  Are you really too proud to let me know, or do you refrain from giving me back the painful impression I made on you with my complaints, because you were unable to assist me?  Be it so, dear friend; if you do not feel the want of making a clean breast of it all, be silent!  But if you do feel such a want, then esteem me worthy of listening to your grief.  Do not think me as weak as I may appear to be.  My difficulty lies in the abominable meanness of my situation; but of that I can take a larger view if some strong sympathy induces me to break with my habit of thought.  I think I have said enough.  If more were needed, even this would have been too much.

Assume henceforth that all is right with me; that I have no other care but that which your troubles give me.

The letter to the King of Saxony I shall leave alone; I should not know how to utter any truth in it that he would comprehend, and to tell lies I do not care; it is the only sin I know.  I shall finish my “Nibelungen;” after that there will be time to take a look round the world.  For “Lohengrin” I am sorry; it will probably go to the d—­ in the meanwhile.  Well, let it go; I have other things in my bag.  Well then, I have once more needlessly troubled you.