But one must hope—­hope is a virtue.  Is not this a beautiful identification?

It gives us great pain to know that you are suffering.  I would accept double and treble the rheumatism which I have caught in this climate, where we have eight months of bad weather, and not four of fine, if I could secure you perfect liberty thereby.  Liszt is sad because his travelling plans are disarranged, although he hopes to see you more at his ease another time.  He must be at Vienna at the beginning of January in order to conduct a Mozart festival given for the centenary of the Master’s birthday; and as Berlioz is coming here at the beginning of February, he will have to leave Vienna immediately afterwards.

The papers have no doubt informed you of his stay at Berlin, where he will soon return to attend the first performance of “Tannhauser,” two rehearsals of which he almost entirely conducted.  Stupid people will not be silenced thereby.  To poets living in the tropical regions, where passion expands her gigantic blossoms and her sidereal marvels, stupid people appear like little gadflies which sometimes annoy them and draw blood by their stings, but cannot disturb the enchantment of this luxuriant nature.  Liszt also has been honoured by a swarm of these insects, which buzz with all the more noise and self-sufficiency because they can make so little honey.  He is quite composed, and goes quietly on his way, only uttering occasionally such BONMOTS as “They have cast me down, but I remain standing none the less,” or “What does it matter if other people do things badly so long as I do them well?” etc., etc.; and so life goes on.

Write to me, dear poet, and do not always wait for a reason; and if you will give pleasure to my daughter send her for the New Year the autograph for which she has asked you.

Embrace your wife for me, and convey to her my kindest wishes.  She ought to be sure of them, as indeed ought you.  Have you resumed the “Valkyrie?” The duet between Siegmund and Siegliende has made me shed copious tears.  It is as beautiful as love, as the Infinite, as earth and the heavens.

Your devoted,

Carolyne W.

December 23rdd, 1855.

206.

Today I ought to be with you and prepare your Christmas tree, where the rays and gifts of your genius should shine.  And now we are apart, you troubled with erysipelas, and I with all manner of red roses grown in similar gardens.  But this abominable flora shall not delay the joy of our meeting too long.

You probably know that I have to go to Vienna, in January, to conduct the Centenary Mozart Festival, which takes place on January 27th, and will require at least a few weeks’ preparation.  At the beginning of February I shall be back here.  Berlioz is coming on the 8th of February, and Johanna Wagner on the 20th.  Berlioz’s “Faust” and “Cellini” will be given before the 16th, and your niece is announced in three roles.  As soon as this is over I shall write to tell you when I can come to Zurich, but I am afraid I shall have to wait for the summer.