My dearest Friend!
At last I have an opportunity once more to express my thanks to you for the continued selfless proof of your friendship for me. Don't be angry with me that this comes so late! You had every right to expect to hear from me sooner, for I've often heard so many nice things about you, especially the way you always champion my interests and my works with so rare an energy and endurance and defend them against every attack. Don't hold this against me. So rarely do I get a chance any more to do something which gives me pleasure; often and much have I been kept from my work, even for long periods of time, by the most disagreeable letter writing, even if still longer illnesses don't happen to interrupt it entirely. I really don't lead an enviable life; all that I think about gives me grief and worry; I hardly have any hope left, and joy I no longer know.
That my wife comes among these worries you can well imagine; the state of her health affects me deeply, and it is my serious concern to make her life and suffering bearable in any way I can. I was quite grieved to hear that she was not received by you in Dresden, dear friend, in the way I and she had come to expect. She never actually complained about it to me, but I could tell from her simple report about her life there that you asked her to your house conspicuously little, and that otherwise you practically avoided her. Whenever I asked about you in my letters or gave her short friendly messages, she had nothing more to say about you than that she was not seeing anything of you and that she was almost never asked to your house. Now I must almost suspect that you maintain an attitude toward her—out of sympathy for me, I realize—which causes her pain. In this respect I ask you, friend, not to go too far. Look at the poor woman and tell me if she is not above all only a pitiful object? Ever since her health has been so terribly affected, and every doctor who treats her can give me only small hope for the ailing woman, I see her only as in need of help, and I release her from all responsibility. I therefore ask those who are truly my friends to help me in my good intentions to ease the remainder of her very tormented and troubled life. And you, too, would therefore oblige me very much if you would be quite friendly toward her and treat her as your hostess during your first visit to Zürich. Don't hold any grudge against her, even—as I know—in my interest, or out of sympathy for me. I have forgiven her everything; she has atoned for many things, and in some things one must be prepared to be just toward her.
But, my dear, no more words between us about this matter!
What will become of me, God only knows. I'm using all my energy only to complete Tristan. What my end will be then is immaterial to me. I have to endure a life which can no longer really attract me. To subject myself to an examination in Dresden—now after ten years—no one who knows my extremely irritable mental and physical condition can seriously expect that of me, even if it should bring me the greatest relief. I'm firmly decided never to agree to that. If this hard-hearted pedant whom you call your very revered King cannot follow the example of Baden, Austria, or even Russia, Germany will never see me again.
Therefore I shall henceforth watch you only from afar, but nevertheless I shall always find pleasure in your never-aging youthful freshness, your faithful friendship for me!
Farewell, my good old faithful friend! Cordial regards from your
Richard Wagner
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 202