... I
am very lonely. I often wish for death.
"While I work I forget my troubles; but the moment I rest they come
flocking about me, and I am very miserable. What a splendid life is
an artist's! Look at it! How willingly would I part with it for a
week of real life.
"I can't understand how a really happy man could think of serving
art. If we enjoyed life, we should have no need of art. When the
present has nothing more to offer us we cry out our needs by means
of art. To have my youth again and my health, to enjoy nature, to
have a wife who would love me devotedly, and fine children--for
this I would give up _all my art_. Now I have said it--give me what
is left."
Thus the poem of the Tetralogy was written with doubts, as he said, as
to whether he should abandon art and all belonging to it and become a
healthy, normal man--a son of nature. He began to compose the music of
the poem while in a state of suffering, which every day became more
acute.
"My nights are often sleepless; I get out of bed, wretched and
exhausted, with the thought of a long day before me, which will not
bring me a single joy.
Pages:
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118