“Der Gott, der mir im Busen wohnt, Kann tief mein Innerstes erregen; Der uber allen meinen Kraften thront, Er kann nach aussen nichts bewegen; Und so ist mir das Dasein eine Last, Der Tod erwunscht, das Leben mir verhasst!”

but I shall not publish it in any case.

I was at first startled at your new year’s article, but soon perceived that here again I am indebted to your ever-increasing sympathy.  If, however, you represent my work as something colossal, you mistake, in my opinion, the standard of measurement; to me our artistic publicity, the spirit of our means of representation, etc., appear to be very small and miserable, while my work is just in accordance with ordinary human proportions, and appears gigantic only when we try to confine it to those unworthy conditions.  When therefore we call our plan chimaeric and eccentric, we in reality flatter the actual worthlessness of our artistic publicity, and in a manner mark it as the just and rational measure.  We should not give that wrong impression to people.  Every one of your letters is worth to me gold, and more, but answers in the proper sense I scarcely ever receive from you, and you treat many of my questions as if they had never been asked.  Instead of that you always give me something new; that is splendid, but an answer also would sometimes be useful.

Well, let me hear something good of you soon, and in London let me see you.  I shall take my work with me, and hope to finish the instrumentation of the “Valkyrie” there.

Adieu, dearest Franz.

How are you?  Best remembrances from my wife and many greetings from me to you all.

Your

R. W.

Zurich, January 19th, 1855.

172.

Dearest Richard,

The London Philharmonic comes in very aptly, and I am delighted.  As lately as six months ago people used to shake their heads, and some of them even hissed, at the performance of the “Tannhauser” overture, conducted by Costa.  Klindworth and Remeny were almost the only ones who had the courage to applaud and to beard the Philistines who had made their nests of old in the Philharmonic.  Well, it will now assume a different tone, and you will revivify old England and the Old Philharmonic.  I commend to you Klindworth, a Wagnerian de la VEILLE.  He is an excellent musician, who formerly acted as conductor at Hanover, and there gave a performance of the “Prophet” at the Tivoli Theatre, of which the newspapers were full some years ago.  He is also a splendid pianist, who studied eighteen months with me at Weymar, and you must allow me to send Klindworth a few lines of introduction to you.  As far as I know, there is in London no pianist like him; but, on account of his determined and open sympathy with the so-called “music of the future,” he has placed himself in a somewhat awkward position towards the Philistines and handicraftsmen there.