One of these days you will receive from Bussenius, with whom you were in correspondence before, your biography.  It has been written with the best intentions, and will probably be read far and wide.  Under the pseudonym of W. Neumann, Bussenius has edited a biographical collection, “Die Componisten der neueren Zeit,” for E. Balde of Cassel, and the success has been such that a second edition of some of the volumes will soon be published.  I have asked Bussenius to send you the little book.

My friendly greetings to your wife.  Do not forget your

F. Liszt.

196.

My dear Franz,

Your silence makes me very anxious.  Whenever I look around me and into my future, I see nothing that can rouse me, elate me, comfort me, and give me strength and arms for the new troubles of life except our meeting, and the few weeks you are going to devote to me.  If as to the exact time of that period of salvation I expressed a wish to you, it was done with the care with which one likes to realise beforehand a supreme blessing, well knowing that it must be bought with long sadness, both before and after.  But perhaps you misunderstood me after all, and thought that, apart from the happiness of seeing you again, I was looking for something else, quite independent thereof, and this perhaps may have made you angry.  Let me know, in a few words, how things are, and when you are coming.  I should certainly like to show you as much as possible of my “Valkyrie,” and principally for that reason I did not object to this delay of your much-desired visit.  In my present condition, however, I have little hope of gaining much work by this gain of time.  My mental disharmony is indescribable; sometimes I stare at my paper for days together, without remembrance or thought or liking for my work.  Where is that liking to spring from?  All the motive power which, for a time, I derived from my dreary solitude is gradually losing its force.  When I commenced and quickly finished the “Rhinegold,” I was still full of the intercourse with you and yours.  For the last two years all around me has grown silent, and my occasional contact with the outer world is inharmonious and dispiriting.  Believe me, this cannot go on much longer.  If my external fate does not soon take a different turn, if I find no possibility of seeing you more frequently, and of hearing or producing some of my works now and then, my fountain will dry up, and the end be near.  It is impossible for me to go on like this.

You may imagine, then, how I look forward to your coming, and what I must feel when suddenly I see myself forsaken by you.  Comfort me soon.  After much trouble the first half of the “Valkyrie,” including a clean copy, has got finished.  I should like to show you the two acts complete, but am still waiting for the real love of work.  For the last week indisposition has prevented me from doing anything, and if this goes on I almost doubt whether I shall be able to finish this work from the sketches.