For a long time I have been wishing to write to you, but had not the courage to do so.  Alas! how can I speak to you from my heart?  Today a sheet of paper with a red border comes under my hand; so many symbols are comprised in that colour!  It is devoted to love, it is the purple of kings, and the image of human blood.  It is therefore suited to both of us:  to you as the emblem of your sovereign genius, to me as that of an ardent attachment, the flames of which are my happiness and my glory; to both of us as the sign of the wounds which destiny has inflicted on us without touching our souls.  Need I tell you how much I should like to see you again, and how sincerely I desire that your sojourn in London will be agreeable to you in one way or another?  I can do nothing, nothing, except the best thing of all:  to love, to bless, to admire.

Your affection is very dear to us; continue in it; it is the sun of our starless sky.

May God be with you.  Our hearts are always yours.

Carolyne.

March 27th, 1855.

183.

Dear Franz,

You have punished me in your amiable manner.  I reproached myself very much about this Berlin affair; in any case I was too rash, and settled the matter too quickly after my fashion.  I ought to have asked you, as you were my plenipotentiary, to cede the opera finally to Hulsen; that would have been better, and you would, no doubt, have undertaken this last transaction to please me.  But the whole matter had long ago become so disgusting to me that I lost all energy in connection with it, and felt inclined to finish it as abruptly as possible, so as to hear no more of it.  Do not believe that I was brought to this resolution through my “Berlin friends,” but exclusively through my pecuniary position, which is accurately known to you, and which has tied my hands as to this point.  I was compelled to think of raising money.  I have therefore asked for an advance of a hundred louis d’or on account of royalties, and as to the rest have ceded the opera without any conditions.  To tell you the truth, everything else in connection with my operas has become a matter of perfect indifference to me.  Looking at it carefully, it seems to me that my wish that you should be called to Berlin for the performance of “Tannhauser” has by no means been frustrated thereby.  The decision of this matter was never really within the power of the intendant of the theatre.  The King alone can suspend the usual order, and his decision is quite independent of what the intendant can do on his own authority.  It appears to me therefore that our condition was made to an authority which could not have granted it.  My giving or not giving the opera to the management was a thing apart; and as regards the invitation to you, this remains a matter which we ought to work with the King direct.  Unfortunately it seems that you have little hope of this.  What could be done to get some thing out of the King after all?  Should I have the impudence to write to him and to try in my own way what seems impossible in any other?  The thought of accomplishing my wish after all is the only thing which suddenly places this Berlin affair once more in an interesting light.  What do you think of it?