My dear Englishman!
Two months ago today was the hard day for me, the poor wife you left behind, fainthearted, beyond the seas. For a wife to sit alone at home, far away and separated from her husband, that in itself is inexpressibly hard (says Clytemnestra). Only there is this difference, that she was feigning, whereas what I am writing here comes from the most profound depth of my heart. I could not spend this day more worthily than by talking a bit with you, though I have nothing to tell you. From next Monday onward, you will have only four more concerts to conduct, then only three, etc. Then your duties will drop off with gigantic strides, then I shall see you soon, then I shall feel quite well again, and then at last we shall go up to the divine Seelisberg, and we shall be happy to have each other again; we shall enjoy the heavenly air, and admire nature. Here the beautiful weather continues to last; an inner urge drives me forth; I should like to fly off with the birds and go to you. Oh, what a stupid poor wife I am to have let you go; well, you wait, just let another queer Englishman come who wants to take you away from me. I shall slap his face so hard that he will fly back across the ocean, and sight and hearing will fail him. You poor child, now I hope that you will be all right again very soon, and not cross. . . .
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 148