My dear Minna!
If all the letters I have been writing to you in imagination had really been put down on paper, I could now send you quite a nice package of them. Only this morning have I felt recovered; for the last few days I have been in a frightfully uneasy state. After you had left and I finally lost sight of you, I could do nothing but wonder again and again where you might be by now: the weather was so uncertain! At every gust of wind, at every spurt of rain, I thought of you, angry that I had let you start off on such a nasty day—when the sun appeared again and everything cleared up, I was happy again and pondered: Well, she will enjoy the view after all! If I couldn't find comfort in the thought that you went to a nice place, only for your recovery and health, and that I really had to thank God, who made it so easy for me to do something for your well-being, then I could become melancholy by brooding over past trips, etc., and this always fills me with painful anxiety. I can't make myself believe that when you leave me this time it is only a proof of how things are going with me now. The day after you had gone I couldn't bear staying at home; I got anxious and worried; I ran from one place to another; lunched at Engel's, and went to Heine's in the afternoon. Imagine whom I ran across there in the garden! The old Schröder and both her daughters, Schmidt and Gerlach; we all felt embarrassed when we saw them, and especially the unhappy Müller, who unintentionally became involved in it. No one found a word to say, and finally I fell into my ironical mood and broke out with a lot of crazy stuff at which they all had to laugh. For which Müller was grateful to me. But that situation made me decide to be a recluse from then on and to avoid all such trouble in the future. In the evening I attended the Liedertafel and thanked them for their serenade. On Sunday I didn't leave the house until six o'clock. I wrote a very polite note to the Fürstenaus, who had invited me three times, saying that I was indisposed, had caught a cold, etc. I had my dinner brought up. But my work wouldn't progress; I was out of humor and distrait. So I started out for a lonely walk to the Grosse Garten in the evening, and this did me a lot of good. I now know what to do to adjust myself to where I am and especially to find the mood which is now so necessary for efficient work after so long an interruption. I have to avoid distraction as much as possible and go for many walks alone. I won't go often to the Schusterhäuschen with Heine and Müller; I told them so. When I take a walk with anybody else, I belong to him more than to myself; and just now this is a hindrance and a disadvantage. After my walk I dropped in to the theater for a moment, went home, and was in bed before ten. The best part of that was that I felt fresh and alert as early as four o'clock this morning and could work so easily that I had finished my task before eight o'clock; now I can also write to you too, and it is not yet nine. At twelve o'clock I have a rehearsal of The Huguenots, which is to be given tomorrow; then I am asked to dinner at Heine's; then I will take quite a walk alone; I shall think of you and my work, and with God's help tomorrow morning at four o'clock more inspiration will come to me. So I must endure your absence as best I may, and so you may always have some idea of what I am doing and pursuing.
But now tell me a great deal about yourself, too, dear little wife! How you and mother liked the trip, etc. Today the weather is fine and reminds me of your morning promenade and that view over the Turna Garden which must be at its most beautiful by now. Oh, if you only like it and recover! I hope you will write a lot to me; it may become part of your amusement. How is Schlankelino, Karascholino, Scharmentino, Pepsino? What does he say about not having my nightshirt any longer? Do the Teplitzers like the beautiful juniper dog? How does he get along with Turk? I hope you soon will give me full information about these weighty items!
Above all, be cheerful! You have good reason for it now, and you may thank the good God who is now so well disposed toward us! Goodbye, my good dear wife of my heart! Give my best greeting to Mama; how pleased the good old lady will be to do so well again! Goodbye, goodbye! And think of me as I always think of you, with love, with true love!
Your
Richard
Schröder, etc., left for Teplitz today. I hope you will keep clear of them.
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 49