Dear Natalie:
I am turning to you to learn something about Minna, for I know nothing about her, not even where she is staying just now. I hardly know what I ought to write her myself. I don't want to reproach her with coldness toward me; nor would she understand my defense, for the person who is not able to defend me on her own account would not concur with my plea, nor would she be ready to understand it. So nothing more is left for me than to express my deep yearning for her: but this I could do in no other way than by inducing her to come to me so as not to aggravate still further our miserable situation by the greatest of evils—separation. But she especially asked me, in consideration of her health, not to pester or urge her about this. What am I to write her now? Should I write about myself? How could she, taking such an attitude, be genuinely sympathetic about news coming from me? If I write her that I am discontented about my enterprises or affairs, she might be scornful and exclaim: "Don't you see that you brought it on yourself?" But if I write about my successes, prospects, and hopes, she would be skeptical and call it a delusion. She might be entirely cautious and prudent in this, but I find no trace of love in it, only lack of affection and stubbornness. Yet in my present situation I can't turn to Minna unless I feel sure of her love: only love can overcome all that must now be overcome; only love can justify, excuse, understand, and reconcile. But the first admission of this love in our case should be made by the wife, who should go to her husband since he cannot go to her. If Minna is incapable in any case of making this decision, she frankly and clearly proves that she has no love for her husband; that a place, a flat, tables, chairs, and things—about which she is now mourning and complaining—are dearer to her than the living person called her husband; that she prefers listening to slander, narrow-minded judgments, condescensions, et cetera, rather than finding out the truth by joining him. Once more, in a word, she proves that she has no love for him. Under this very rational supposition what am I to write now? Only useless and annoying stuff, and I don't want to add to all her troubles about her affairs, vexation over my lost position, and the evil reports, not of my own making. If she has lost her love for me, it can't be revived from without; it can arise only spontaneously from her own heart: so I can do nothing but leave her to her own character and cherish at a distance the most ardent desire that she may soon become mine again.
You, my dear Natalie, are near Minna most of the time—so I hope, at least: therefore I turn to you to observe her closely and to find out how it is with her heart and what she says about the possibility of an early reunion with me. Therefore I am going to notify you as often as possible about how things are going with me and how my affairs are standing, so you yourself may be able to give Minna information and encouragement when there is need or opportunity. Above all, be sure to let me know exactly how Minna is managing: she absolutely refused to accept borrowed money from me, so I hoped to send her some earned money one of these days, especially a fee from Frankfurt for my Tannhäuser, although unfortunately I got a negative reply yesterday. But if Minna is really in need, write immediately and I'll find ways and means to get money to her secretly through you—even if it should have to be borrowed from a friend.
As for myself, I first want you to know the following, so that you can give information to Minna should the case arise: After receiving, in the country near Paris, Minna's very depressing letter, I wrote right away to Liszt; he is to stop all pending negotiations about a salary and not inquire of Minna as I had asked him to do. After I had waited for some answer to my letters—they take much time at this distance—I returned to Paris to come to a formal arrangement with my librettist. Since I had then nothing more to do than to work, for which purpose I wouldn't stay in Paris at any price, I left for Zürich. I had been warmly invited to go there by my friend Alexander Müller, Professor of Music, who has his own home in which I occupy two nice large rooms. In one of them two beds were ready for me and my wife: one of these remains still empty and unused. I can't gaze at the glorious view from the window of the other room without thinking: How this view would hearten Minna at the side of her husband, if she could love him! Müller has two young daughters and a very nice, friendly, and sympathetic wife. Both have no greater desire than to keep me and my wife in their home and to have us as their guests, in the fullest sense of the word, as long as we should wish. First of all, they are excellent, kind people whose greatest pleasure is to be able to help others—such as me and my wife; besides, they are flattered to think that I may live with them and in their house bring my future works to the light of day. I declared to them that their friendship would make me truly happy only if my wife, too, could share in it: without her I find no peace of soul and mind and so cannot yet work. I well understand now that Minna would have to have much love for me if she were willing to join me in accepting the offer of my friend. By helping Müller's wife in the household and working in sympathy with her, she would offset any obligation: I would stay in Müller's home, if Minna should come, only until my other affairs were settled. For I hope to strike a bargain with a very wealthy art patron here to the effect that I will sell him all my German operas to come for a fixed yearly salary in advance, which would enable me to lead a carefree existence with my wife in Zürich, which is a very inexpensive city. Here I would make my home once for all: my Parisian affairs would take me to Paris for a few months only, each year. Even now I could sell my finished opera Lohengrin outright. If Minna only would declare that she is willing to come, everything would be easily and quickly in order: but now while she stays far away, cold and unloving, I don't take an interest in anything and can't go ahead with any enthusiasm. If Minna would only come, she would receive the necessary money from me at once. The furniture and household goods which she has kept would all have to be sent afterward, for such things are expensive here: for the present she still could live here in the Müllers' home with me, so that we could get ready a small apartment for ourselves later, after the transaction of the business I have mentioned. You, dear Natalie, would have to come along in any event, first because you belong to us, and right now you would find some very useful occupation in Müller's home: but if it comes to the worst, I could easily procure for you a position here right now, if you weren't too much needed by Minna. All this has already been carefully considered here and talked about.
I could feel quite well and cheerful here on account of the most amiable care of my friends— Oh God, if only Minna were here with me! This way I languish in loneliness, while Minna worries and grieves in loneliness too; together we would have the same troubles, but now they are further aggravated by our separation. Oh, if only the good spirit, the spirit of love, would soon come to Minna again. If she is not soon overtaken again by the purest and noblest feeling for me, I am afraid she will never again be capable of loving me: then she may tell me that she will never see me any more, that she can't love me any longer, and then farewell to art and everything essential to my life! Then I am going to take my walking stick and wander out into the wide world where no one will find a trace of me!
The Müllers intended to write Minna: I prevented them; for nothing will affect Minna from without if she hasn't it inside her heart; if she is moved by love she will come, and come under any circumstances; if she doesn't love me, not even the most pleasant conditions in the world could entice her out of her gloomy, resentful, bad humor.
That's how things stand, dear Natalie! Perform well your task! Write soon and often so that I at least shall always know how you are doing, and arrange that we can also see each other again soon. Greet the poor old parents! If they will have courage, they may come along with you to Switzerland; here there is room for all!
Farewell and keep loving
Your
Richard Wagner
Zurich, care of Herr Alexander Müller, Professor of Music
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 76