Well, you good Mutz? I kept thinking that I would get a letter from you yesterday or today. Has my letter before last about the amnesty matter given you much trouble? Has it worried you? I can almost believe so when I remember that I didn't quite accept your advice. But to me the matter has a very ugly appearance: I confess that it fills me with terrible bitterness when I think about the hard-heartedness and petty small-mindedness with which this king treats me after I wrote to him and finally to his son in such a way that it should have moved or even shamed him. I openly confess to you that I am disgusted to the depths of my soul by the thought that he paid no attention to me at all, that I did not get a word in reply, and that one expects me to endure with my spirit unharmed the whole dishonorable unpleasantness of two months of examinations, confrontations, and investigations just to show that I did not hold myself above any other shyster or bankrupt lawyer who at that time played the revolutionist. Can you blame me for that? Isn't it a low trick which they want to play on me, and isn't it worth while assuring myself first whether I'll really accomplish anything by it? I'm repeating these arguments to you once more in order to inform you about my mood because it might otherwise grieve you that I was not better prepared to act eagerly on your reports. On the other hand, it is certain that the matter must be decided within half a year. I just can't leave my poor wife without a definite domestic conjugal shelter. No! By then we must know exactly where we're going to settle down; and in order that it may last for the rest of our lives everything must be definitely decided by the authorities. Just let me finish Tristan first, because too much depends on that, and a new interruption to which I'm now so sensitive could easily be fatal to its completion. But wait, perhaps the rotten thing will come out all right after all. These days, I suspect, the Grand Duke of Baden will consult Dresden again: if there is a trace of nobility in this King, everything combines to induce him to be considerate toward me. In this respect the enclosed notice about a performance of Lohengrin in Vienna which, as you can gather from it, the entire Austrian court and Prince Albert of Saxony attended was not unimportant to me. The paper was sent to me from Hamburg (Theaterzeitung), and I cut out the clipping for you. In a Dresden paper the beginning would surely look quite good.
Well—just let us wait for what the new year brings to us poor, sorely tried married people. I don't mean by that that I want to give up my intention of writing the letter to the Minister of Justice. On the contrary, I consider it very important. But I hope I'll soon get news from Karlsruhe and can then make better arrangements, all according to what the success is there. Then I'm thinking of asking the minister, with all the persuasiveness at my command, simply for an endorsement of my earlier petition to the King for a pardon, that is, for his support of a full amnesty. Only if this should once more fail completely, would I ask for safe conduct in order to undergo the examination in Dresden. So—doesn't it have to succeed? Don't you think so too?
Courage then! A little more patience—and good hope!
Now I still have something extraordinary to tell you about. Well—an offer for an engagement in New York. Through a period of eight months beginning next September an excellent opera enterprise is to be established there, and my operas are to be produced for the Americans with fabulous magnificence. Johanna is inclined to accept the offer also. I should merely send my conditions. God, how I have waited for this happiness! In the meantime, however, I'll have to see that I can gain some advantage from it so that they get the operas properly through me and I get something substantial out of it. If I were to reject it outright, that, too, would be cut off. So I explained that they should surely realize that only the assurance of very considerable advantages and the acquisition of a small fortune could induce me to assume the difficulties of such an engagement; that's why I first awaited a definite explanation as to what guarantees they could offer me. Now I shall see what they answer. If they are nice about it, I'll pretend to be very happy; but I'll make it clear that unfortunately the doctor has forbidden me to make the trip to America and to stay in New York. Then I'll catch them with the fee for the operas and recommend Klindworth to them. You see what a trickster I am! Perhaps I'll also use this offer to scare the Saxon Minister of Justice and to make it clear that, if they don't pardon me, I'll be forced to leave Europe forever though Germany is the natural soil for my art. We'll soon see!
Now, my good Minna, you have nothing, nothing further to do than to take very good care of yourself, to live on schedule for your health, so as to give me the great, deep, and fervent happiness of finding you somewhat improved and recovered, quiet and at ease, when we finally have each other again. Then you shall have my best and most loving care and affection as long as I live!
My leg is better after all; today I walked for nearly an entire hour. I can certainly speak of luck: foreigners, especially those accustomed to mountain air, are here by the sea—you heard correctly—exposed to very bad and lingering ulcers. So I'm completely quiet and happy. Now I'll probably soon get news again about how you are. O God! if it is only good news. That always makes me very happy and serene!
Farewell! Sleep! Sleep well! And always trust your good
Richard
Your quite extraordinarily good portrait is lying on my left as I write. It always looks at me so goodheartedly and softly, so questioningly, and a little worried. No, Minna! Don't worry. Everything is all right! Be happy!
Well, I hope Christmas has brought you a little something from me. May you have very little need for the night lamp. But if you do need it when you wake up, just think: he is, after all, a good fellow! Then you'll fall asleep again soon. I've also been very sleepless lately. I haven't been able to sleep any night before two or three o'clock in the morning. Yes, yes!
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 200