My dear Richard!
Yesterday I received from Natalie the letter which you had written to her; she thinks I had better answer it, since it concerns myself only. I am sorry that you didn't get my letter of the 28th addressed to Belloni in Rueil; I assume you left your present address, for I don't want it to get into the hands of strangers; so you will receive it, even if you haven't already.
I wrote you that I would come to you in Zürich, but you should not press me; those things can't be arranged so quickly as one imagines from afar, for taking one's final leave of a place involves settling many disagreeable matters. I hope you will understand, my dear Richard, that in coming to you I make no slight sacrifice. What sort of future do I face? What have you to offer me? Almost two years may elapse before you, by a stroke of luck, may count on some income, and depending on the good will of one's friends only is a dreary existence for a wife. When we once lived under the most wretched conditions, we at least had a prospect of better times. But the present restless state of the world leaves art in a very precarious position, since art can thrive only on peace and prosperity. I have no wish to dampen your courage; but to venture once again into the unknown, to court worries and misery in a foreign country, for this my courage is not enough. I have lost my faith in your beautiful promises, and there is no longer any happiness for me on this earth! What you wrote in your last letter about refusing the fixed stipend from Liszt seems to me almost ridiculous when I think it over; as if you didn't need the money for yourself. Besides, I had not refused at all to accept from you money that you had earned, and for this purpose you wanted to do your best; don't take this amiss, but I now believe that it was Liszt himself who called it off, or the whole thing from the beginning was only a fairy tale. In your letter to Natalie you reproach me repeatedly for my lack of affection toward you. I really do not understand you; to be sure, I never showed you any unkindness, but what proof of love have I had from you? You ought to have set me a good example, but you have not done so; otherwise you would have listened to my entreaties and for once also made a sacrifice for me; now it is over and this shall not be a reproach, but you will admit that you have done me a great injustice, and in the end yourself too, by exchanging a carefree life for a highly insecure one. I wish that you may never have cause to regret this.
Dresden cannot be my future place of residence; I would play a sad role as your abandoned wife. You don't want me to accept a position such as has already been offered me, assuring me a carefree existence, and this would bring with it a long separation which I myself could hardly stand, for I still love you in spite of all you have done to me. You may judge, my dear Richard, how strong this love must have been; but if you don't believe it and if you deny having done me any wrong, I will know how to control myself and I would die rather than go to you.
You write that I should bring along to Zürich the remaining furniture. You had forgotten that you have sold all that has any value and that my Hamburg furniture is entirely old-fashioned and worn out, is badly cracked and not worth transportation. The freight to Zürich is very expensive; only mattresses, curtains, and a few easily transportable things would be worth sending, and I haven't anything else. As for the hospitality of your friend Müller, you could hardly take advantage of it for both of us for more than two or four weeks—certainly no longer, for this would cause your wife the greatest embarrassment and prove awkward on both sides. We need two rooms, a small kitchen, no more; whatever furniture we may need we can decide when I am with you. It can't be very expensive. By the way I am told that a small apartment of this sort is certainly not to be found at a cheap price. On my part I won't be of much use to our hostess; it is always a doubtful matter to help in a strange household, and I no longer feel like serving as a goodhearted bootblack. Anyway, you are wrong in pressing me too much to come to you; don't attribute it again to a lack of affection, for it is natural that my health has suffered a great deal from the terrible excitements and hardships. I am very irritable, even bitter. I tell you this in advance to avoid reproaches in case I should long for my home; alas, I forget that I have no longer a home. In short, I do not yearn for other conditions. We must try now to make life as easy as possible for ourselves; if only God gives us health we should be content now. If you have a sure position for Natalie, I shall bring her along; otherwise, certainly not; we ourselves shall have to manage very carefully. I have recently been doing without luxuries but I shudder at this prospect. I had little, but could count on it, and the cheering prospect that we might make our way again was happiness enough for me. Some time you will be wistfully reaching back for that honorable sphere of action where you reaped so much joy and honor. I can't imagine you will ever find conditions which are pleasant in every respect; however, in Dresden the advantages outweighed the drawbacks of your position. I received the notification of your dismissal only last Monday, shortly before I left. You may have read it in the Leipzig paper too. You must write me what I am to bring along of your work; the rest of the music I will put away for safe keeping. You can have it sent to you when your address is again definite. It has become very voluminous and very heavy, and expensive for shipping. Forgive my writing for not being very distinct or fine enough, but I can hardly see any more. This comes from much crying; how many tears did I shed in those disastrous days. The good Frommann sends you her cordial greetings. She wrote from Berlin full of concern for us; you could write to her too sometimes: she still lives behind the Catholic Church No. 2. I wrote her that you would get a commission for the grand opera. I am to stay here for two more weeks and am feeling quite well. Write me again whether you got my letter of the 28th of last month, how you are doing, etc. Farewell, give my greetings to the Müller family, whom I have not met. The Wolframs all send you their best love; they are happy people after all. You ought not to be so sparing with your letters—you may send them unpaid to Wolfram, who will convey them to me unopened. Goodbye, be happier than your wife,
Always your
Minna
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 77