My beloved Wife!
I received your letter last night when I had gone to bed late: I have gotten up early to answer you. All that your letter contains counts almost nothing as compared with the one fact which I read in every line: the evidence of your pure and warm love which this time you expressed to me without any torturing reproaches. Ah! In this you have done me immense good! Thank you, and preserve for me yourself and your loving heart.
The ways of fate with men are incomprehensible! The terrible catastrophe I have just experienced and the events of yesterday in Weimar have made a different person out of me and have shown me a new path. Imagine, my dear wife, how for years in my Dresden position I have nursed the deepest dejection: a new path which I entered with my art opened up for me thornily enough indeed; wherever I trod, I was hurt; with an inward fury I finally turned my back to my art which yielded me nothing but suffering; you know that I almost begrudged the ink and the paper which I needed to write a new opera. Thus, in a state of extreme discontent with my position and almost with my art, groaning under a burden which, unfortunately, you were not really willing to understand, deep in debts, so much so that my usual earnings would have satisfied my creditors only in the course of many years and under shameful deprivations, I was at variance with this world, I ceased to be an artist, I frittered away my creative powers, and became a mere revolutionary (if not in deeds, at least in conviction); that is, I was seeking in a wholly transformed world the ground for some new art creations of my spirit. Now the Dresden revolution and its whole result have taught me that I am not a real revolutionary by any means, and I have seen from the evil outcome of the revolt that a real and victorious revolutionary must proceed completely without scruple—he must not think of his wife and children, nor of his house and home—his only goal is: destruction; and if the noble-minded Heubner had been willing to proceed in this manner in Freiberg or Chemnitz even now, then the revolution would have remained victorious. But men of our type are not destined for this horrible task: we are revolutionaries only in order to be able to construct something on fresh ground; it is not destruction which attracts us, but the formation of something new, and that is why we are not the kind of men whom Destiny needs—these will arise from the lowest dregs of the people; we and our hearts cannot have anything in common with them. You see! Thus I am parting with the revolution. . . .
I already came to terms with myself about this on my way to Weimar; and in view of a worthless future for Germany for perhaps a considerable number of years, I was pondering only about how I could settle down with you somewhere, in quiet seclusion in the country, when suddenly a new way was pointed out to me in Weimar. Liszt and his friend the Princess Wittgenstein are in this respect in a certain agreement with the Grand Duchess of Weimar—an agreement which has existed for some time—and they have decided together to lead me and my talent out of the miserable situation in Germany and into the world's broader path. They say that here in Germany I would perish and that my art in the end would disgust even myself; that, they said, they must not allow: they must keep my creative powers fresh and joyous for the world. They are directing me to London and Paris: to London, in order to have translated there my most recent opera Lohengrin and to have it first performed by the English theater—not in Germany! That would bring me fame and especially money. To Paris, in order that I may write another opera for that city in the meantime. Liszt takes it upon himself to arrange everything; as he knows the present conditions, he does not doubt in the least that he will bring about the Paris commission and the London enterprise in short order. How seriously he and my friends are interested in the matter you can best see by the 2,000 francs I have been offered by him for this purpose; and in general he has bound himself to provide me fully with the money for these undertakings—and as long as I may need it.
Ah! Dear, good wife! This has given strength to my heart, and at one stroke I have become an entire artist again, I love my art again, and I hope by means of it some day to make my poor much tried wife happy. I also hope by this remarkable means to be able soon to satisfy all of my creditors. Good God! How is it possible that even the worst has turned into the best?
I have not yet had a chance to tell Liszt about the worrisome contents of your letter; I shall see him in an hour, and I shall come to an understanding with him about the next steps; you will then hear about it immediately. And now, only a few requests, before I forget them. (1) My Lohengrin score is with the Kammermusikus Uhlig in Poliergasse; you must get it from him. (2) The young Ritter, in Waisenhausstrasse next to Semper's house, has my text of Siegfried and another sketch—Die Wibelungen—which I should also like to have. These things, together with a score of Rienzi, one of Holländer, and one of Tannhäuser, you must also send along with the other things. I also should like the portfolio which you had with you, and its contents; on the big shelf at the left-hand side of the desk there is a folder containing some compositions which I also want to have. I also should like to have sent some copies of the texts of Rienzi, Holländer, and Tannhäuser (at Meser's house). The copies of the texts of Rienzi and Holländer are in one of the inside compartments at the right-hand side of the desk.
I have just consulted Liszt and Professor Wolff. They think that I am completely safe here for the time being and that a sudden legal action against me is in any case impossible; the most anyone could do would be to apply to the ministry here to arrest me; in such a case, I could depend on the protection of the Minister Watzdorf. He is a very liberal-minded man and a sympathizer with the German party; in the worst case he would provide me with a passport and send me on. I am surely safe against a surprise attack. Now I shall tell you, my good wife, what is most on my mind: I must see you once again before I go to London or Paris. Listen! This coming Sunday there will be a new production of Tannhäuser; and my birthday is coming at about the same time; you must be here for that. Meanwhile, I might ramble around on foot a little in the beautiful country of Thuringia, Wartburg, etc. I also might visit Professor Wolff in Jena, who has invited me to live on a farm near Jena in complete safety and as long as I may want to, in case things should become very bad. I should then come back so as to be in Weimar and meet you there on Sunday, in order to go with you to Tannhäuser (which Götze is supposed to sing very well). Perhaps we might then stay together for a few more days until my birthday, and console each other quite freely about the future. Then I should go to Paris and London; and as soon as I have signed a definite contract there, you could follow me in order that—God willing—we may never be separated again. You see! This is how it stands. Help to carry it out, and be in Weimar on Sunday!
Everything for me is to be sent to Liszt's address.
I must close now; at ten o'clock there will be a rehearsal of Tannhäuser; the Grand Duchess wants to see me today—I shall get a dress coat from Liszt.
Now, give my most heartfelt greetings to the dear darling Wolframs! And you, my poor suffering wife! Let the ray of light, which is now revealed to me, enter your tortured heart too! Everything will yet turn out better than we thought. May God save you! Faithful, good Minna! Farewell! Farewell!
Your
R. W.
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 67