intolerable. Always to submit to things, never, even at the risk
of one's own perdition, to give a turn to the wheel of suffering
and to determine its direction--that must at last rouse the
meekest of men to revolt. I must now act, do something. Again and
again the thought comes to me of retiring to some distant corner
of the world, although I know full well that this would mean only
FLIGHT, not the conquest of a new life, for I am too LONELY. But
I must at least begin something that will make my life, such as
it is, sufficiently tolerable to enable me to devote myself to
the execution and completion of my work, which alone can divert
my thoughts and give me comfort. While here I chew a beggar's
crust, I hear from Boston that "Wagner nights" are given there.
Every one persuades me to come over; they are occupying
themselves with me with increasing interest; I might make much
money there by concert performances, etc. "Make much MONEY!"
Heavens! I don't want to make money if I can go the way shown to
me by my longing. But if I really were to undertake something of
this kind, I should even then not know how to get with decency
out of my new arrangements here in order to go where I could make
money. And how should I feel there?

Alas! this is so impossible that the impossibility is equalled
only by the ridiculous position into which I sink when I commence
brooding over the possibility of the plan. My work, my
"Nibelungen," would then of course be out of the question.

This WORK is truly the only thing which still ties me to the
desire of life. When I think of sacrifices and demand sacrifices,
it is for this work; in it alone I discover an object of my life.
For its sake I must hold out, and hold out here, where I have got