My dear Richard,
You should and must have the firmest conviction that, though I rarely take up a pen, my thoughts are with you every day, and that you have in my heart, which is so empty of joy, a very dear, comfortable, and spacious place. Though some gloomy cloud may have arisen to darken my interest in you as friend and artist, my attitude has not changed, I am full of enthusiasm about your genius, as well as your inspired works and the products of your spirit. With your departure the spark of life has left our artistic horizon; and the farther the time recedes when you were one of us, furthering the spirit of art in our midst, the more the conviction prevails that that time was the "golden age" of our opera. Operas by Gluck are now pia desideria. Our singer Ney (three days ago become Mad. Bürde) likes to sing Norma, Lucia, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Rosina—Isabella (in Robert), wherein a certain unmentionable part must perform its moving function. Too bad, too bad for this really marvelous, fine-sounding voice.
But what does it matter? Certain quarters favor this kind of music, or rather "musical whining"—how stupid of me to get on this subject—you know it just as well as I do and better. But in a little circle dedicated to everything beautiful and lofty, you are celebrated, dear old fellow; and this was especially the case on December 12 of last year, when on the founders' day of the Zehner (a society to which I have the honor of belonging, and consisting of ten persons) I had musical director Hünerfürst perform two numbers and the overture from Rienzi, two numbers from The Flying Dutchman, and instrumental excerpts from Lohengrin. We reveled—I was more enthusiastic than ever—I sang with a voice of rare inner feeling. There was no end to "Vivat Richard"—we parted at four o'clock in the morning. The festival was given in the hall of the Kaufmann Verein, which had put it at my disposal as a member of long standing. We were about sixty persons; all adherents of art, of true and serious art. Many a tear was shed for our Richard—"Oh, if only we had him back," was the general sigh. Dear, good Richard, don't get impatient if I bore you here, but you will forgive this effusion of an old friend, who is faithfully attached to you.
I have almost mastered your Lohengrin, and shall sing it for the first time in Danzig in April, as well as Tannhäuser. In May both operas in Darmstadt as well as in Frankfort—and finally Tannhäuser in Würzburg. I am urgently asked to go to Prague, but I cannot go, for I have been refused extra leave. How much I am looking forward to Lohengrin! If only you were with me!!!
For sixteen days now we have been busy with rehearsals for Nordstern for five to six hours a day—first performance on the 9th. You know my profession of faith—dealers in fancy goods must do business too. You are going to London? I hope to be there in June too. Would it be possible to have fragments of your operas performed, or could they have a hearing at a concert? The Peace March and Cantilena from Rienzi (Prayer, Act V)—the Sailors' Chorus from the Dutchman? On this last let me know soon, very soon. Kindest regards to your wife, and remain fond of your
Tschekel
Won't you entrust me with a copy of the Ring of the Nibelung? Please! Please!
Half past seven in the evening: I have just received a letter from Johanna.
As for Herr Eberle whom you have recommended, I shall be pleased to give him all support if an opportunity comes to give him something to do.
My dear Josephine and Fränzchen are now my only happiness.
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 145