A thousand thanks to dear M. for her beautiful and kind lines.  You all appear to me like a family of saints.  Ah, we are all holy martyrs; perhaps I shall one day be a real one, but in that case all will be over for me with art—­that beautiful delusion, the last and the most sublime, to hide from us the misery of the world.

Farewell, dear, glorious friend.

Remember me cordially at home, and continue to love me.

22, Portland Terrace, regent’s Park, London.

180

22, Portland Terrace, regent’s Park, London.

Dearest Franz,

I am in the absurd position of having to demand of you a friendly service of a peculiar kind.  I cannot delay the Berlin “Tannhauser” affair any longer; my pecuniary position is so unfortunate that I cannot afford to forego the hope of Berlin receipts.  Hulsen has applied to me once more, through Alwine Frommann, and, as he says, for the last time.  He promises all manner of things; the opera is to be given in the autumn, and the preparations are to begin as early as the spring.  I must adopt the “trivial” view of this matter, the same view which unfortunately I am compelled to take of the entire fate of my operas.  In spite of D. conducting, “Tannhauser” will probably have the same kind of effect in Berlin which it has had every where else; to connect higher hopes with it seems vain.  Let the matter therefore take the only course which apparently is open to it, but I regret very much that you have wasted so much trouble and submitted to so many stupid things in endeavouring to accomplish the condition made by me.  We are, as we now see, powerless.

The fate which we must expect is, after all, the common lot.  Our best efforts always appear before the world in a truncated and distorted form.  I am going to write to Alwine Frommann that she is to accept Hulsen’s offer without further conditions and to tell him that this has been your advice.  The truth is that in this manner you will avoid a struggle which, in my opinion, would be fruitless.

Klindworth, for whom I am grateful to you, will probably write to you about my doings in London; I can only say that I do not exactly see what I am here for.  The only interesting thing to me is the orchestra, which has taken a great liking to me, and believes in me with enthusiasm.  By that means I shall at least be able to have a few good performances, to which the people are quite unaccustomed.  All other things, especially public, press, etc., are very indifferent to me.  The directors insisted upon my performing some pieces from “Lohengrin” and the Ninth Symphony as early as the second concert, and granted me two rehearsals for the purpose.

I am still without a piano.  I long to resume my work.  Where and when shall I see you again?