My poor, poor Minna! Oh, if you only could know the feeling I put into those words. See, the tears are flowing from my eyes, all my manliness is broken by grief. You are so far, so far, so far away, among strange, rough people, and all this is a sacrifice made for me. I read over your letters, the ones you wrote me from Berlin, and now I realize everything, everything. Yes, it is a sacrifice for me! Minna, if I am not able to make you very happy, then I am hardly worthy of you! So far away, alas, so far—ah, the very thought would crush me if I were to give up hope! Now you are everything, everything in this world to me—you know well that you have every claim upon me. And what, Minna, could ever make me forget this? What could induce or compel me to cease loving you, to give you up? Once more I swear to you: If fate should send us north and south, then my only thought would be how to overcome that separation. O my poor child, how is it with you now, so far removed from everything you knew and loved? Do you weep, are you sad, or are you as steady and courageous as ever? O my God, how troubled I am by the thought that you were misled by Königsberg, that you found everything there different from what you had expected, no prospect for us, etc., and to do this you have so completely cut yourself off from everyone. May God not punish me by letting it go on this way. I could never describe with what anguish of mind and soul I am looking forward to a letter from you. What will it reveal to me, what will I learn from it? If you feel unhappy, if you see no hope I couldn't stand it! My Minna, Minna, Minna! I weep without restraint, and really I'm not ashamed of my tears. It is no usual state I am in, all the misery of my life culminates in the thought: There is a good, dear, wonderful girl who is suffering for my sake! Minna, my poor child, give me some comfort, some reassurance.
Well, I am in Berlin, in the same hotel where you stayed half a year ago, but not in your room No. 19: Schwabe is still there—I couldn't find out where you stayed this last time, but I did find that you left on Tuesday. I am helpless here and deserted, but there may be a slight turn in my bad luck. My main effort here, above all else, is to secure something to fall back on, so that when I come to you in the far distant north, if we should run into difficulties later, we could make our retreat without feeling that our chances are cut off. I got an introduction to Cerf from a writer here called Glasbrenner; I found him in the best humor, and the long and short of it is that I have won his favor. He told me right away: "If you have nothing now, I can do something for you. Gläser wants to take a leave of absence, and you can have his place for the time being." I mentioned my opera at once, and he seemed willing, but there can be no question of doing it just now, because he hasn't got his new singers yet. I have spoken to him several times since, and we know each other better; he has told me that he likes me very much. He is going to advance Gläser's leave four weeks, so that perhaps I can begin soon. If I can take over even for a short time, it will be easy for me to start rehearsing my opera, the more so because yesterday he declared himself ready, on Laube's and Glasbrenner's intercession (these two are laboring in my cause here, and advertise me everywhere as a giant genius), to give my opera as early as possible, when he can find a cast (which he could do now, if necessary). Today I am definitely going to push the fellow.
Your letter, which I am waiting for, shall decide everything! If I can't start with my job at Königsberg right away, I'll stay here in Gläser's place for the time being, and will personally conduct my opera, or perhaps make a contract with Cerf for later, perhaps in a year, when Gläser's contract is up—so I'll secure my return to the more cultivated Germany, and maybe some time come to Berlin with my dear wife and a fine youngster, to take Gläser's position; at that time you need no longer be at the theater. But if you should send me the contract now, I'd come to you in a moment, that would be the best of all for me; I would deliver my opera to Cerf, and I would get Laube, Glasbrenner, and the others to have an eye on its performance. But if Cerf has really fallen for me, I might, with a contract for Königsberg in my hands, corner him and perhaps induce him to make a permanent contract with me. Then perhaps I can get him to engage you in addition and, if not, I could marry you then, even if you are not at the theater. But these are at best beautiful plans, I can't yet count on anything with certainty, for you know what Cerf is like. So we won't yet delude ourselves with this hope; the principal thing and the most necessary one always remains a contract for Königsberg. Therefore let this be your main concern, my dear child, it is the most important thing, and try your utmost to get it as soon as possible, starting right away, for to see you soon is and remains my greatest and most inexpressible yearning. Work on it, and bring it about, my good angel. Ah, how glad I would be, if I could contribute something to our happiness, so that for once you would owe something to me, since I have you to thank so far for everything, everything. My poor, poor girl, what trouble and stress I have caused you already; I mean recently and still now, now! Minna, Minna, I am dying with misery and longing—my poor, poor child! So far, so far from me! Oh, it is terrible. Tell me, do you not also weep a great deal? Do you not have sorrow and grief? And do you love me even so? Even so? And now, nothing, nothing in this world must separate me from you, by God and Eternity, nothing, nothing, my Minna, can tear you from your
Richard
I must close, I can say no more. You know me, yes, you know me!
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 13