And do you know what has confirmed me in this sentiment,
inspiring me with new pride? It is YOUR WORK ABOUT THE "FLYING
DUTCHMAN." In this series of articles I have once more clearly
recognized myself, and have come to the conclusion that we have
nothing in common with this world. WHO DID EVER UNDERSTAND ME?
You, and no one else. Who understands YOU? I, and no one else. Be
sure of it. You, for the first and only time, have disclosed to
me the joy of being wholly understood. My being has passed into
yours; not a fibre, not the gentlest tremor of my heart, remains
that you have not felt with me. But I also see that THIS ALONE
means being really understood, while all else is misunderstanding
and barren error. What do I want more after having experienced
this? What do you want of me after having experienced this with
me? Let the tear of a beloved woman mingle with this joy, and
what else can we desire? Do not let us desecrate our own selves.
Let us look upon the world through the medium of contempt alone.
It is worth nothing else; to found any hope on it would be
deceiving our own hearts; it is BAD, BAD, THOROUGHLY BAD: only
the heart of a FRIEND, the tears of a woman, can dispel its
curse. We do not respect the world. Its honour, its glory, or by
whatever name its shams may be called, are nothing to us. It
belongs to Alberich, to no one else. Let it perish! I have said
enough; you now know my sentiment, which is not a momentary
emotion, but as firm and solid as adamant. That sentiment alone
gives me strength to drag on the burden of life. But I must
henceforth cling to it inexorably. I have a deadly hatred of all
APPEARANCE, of all hope, for it is self-deception. But I will
work; you shall have my scores; they will belong to us, to no one
else. That is enough. You have the "Rhinegold," have you not? I