through you: it is no exaggeration. Take care of your creation. I
call this a duty which you have towards me.

The only thing I want is money; that at least one ought to be
able to get. Love I abandon, and art!

Well, the "Rhinegold" is ready, readier than I ever thought it
would be. I went to this music with so much faith, so much joy;
and with a true fury of despair I continued, and have at last
finished it. Alas! the need of gold held me too in its net.
Believe me, no one ever has composed in this manner; my music, it
seems to me, must be terrible; it is a slough of horrors and
sublimities.

I shall soon make a clean copy, black on white, and that will
probably be the end of it; or shall I give permission to have
this also performed at Leipzig for twenty louis d'or? I cannot
write more to you today. You are the only person to whom I could
tell such a thing; no one else has an idea of it, least of all
the people near me.

Do not think that the news of Leipzig has made me suddenly
desperate. I anticipated this, and knew everything beforehand. I
can also imagine that the Leipzig failure may still be repaired,
that "it is not as bad as we think," and much more to the same
effect. It may be, but let me see evidence. I have no faith, and
only one hope: sleep, sleep, so profound, so profound, that all
sensation of the pain of living ceases. That sleep at least is
within my reach; it is not so difficult to get.