You thoroughly bad Woman!
To have to take abuse even by telegraph when worrying about one's wife! Well, anyway, I was very glad to hear from you yesterday before going to bed, and I had no regrets about the money since I could count on a letter today with certainty. You know, of course, that I wrote to you just two weeks ago today and that I received no answer to this letter. This worried me, good Mutz. But now it's all right and—sensible. Moreover—just try to imagine a little my situation here! I see and speak to literally no one except the servants. If the weather were always nice and if I could take excursions which I had anticipated and which I had definitely counted on, everything would be fine, for then I would hope to have a clear head for work, and that would make me forget all that's amiss. But the devil brings in one fog after another: I have not been able to take any long trip without uncertainty; it's weighing me down like lead, and when I look around I don't even have a little dog to talk to! Sometimes the mouth needs a bit of exercise too! So I live only on what the mail brings me. Your letters are always so welcome, for first of all they entertain me; 2, they make me happy with good news about your condition, and 3, through their whole tone they now give me the calm and the hope which I need so very badly in our old age. (I'm getting shamefully gray-haired!) If you now suddenly stop writing—with your health still so deeply affected—I shall quickly begin to worry; I am easily thrown into a bad humor. Well, all this will soon come to an end. Today Liszt sent me his Dante Symphony—hell—purgatory—and paradise. Well! I thought to myself: you've endured hell; the purgatorial year is approaching its end, so paradise must be at hand! Amen!
Your letter has put me into a better humor once more, as you see. During all of last week I was quietly desperate, and my only thought was to start out for Paris, because I didn't think I could stand it any longer under these conditions. I thought I'd at least let Kietz chat with me in the evenings! Now I hope once more to stay here until I've finished Tristan. In the end I would after all greatly regret it if I were to plunge into the sea of houses and deny myself the invigorating effect of the Swiss air. So I want to leave it completely up to good weather and the progress of my work; I'll also leave it to news from Paris whether anything substantial will develop there for next winter. In the meanwhile there has been news from America. It is really quite acceptable: the manager wants to limit my engagement to only three months, during which I should conduct only my operas and concerts; for that they've guaranteed me 20,000 francs and a benefit concert for from 10,000 to 15,000 francs. Free trip both ways. I'd get off with two months less and, after all deductions, I'd still have my 30,000 francs left. What do you think? The manager is coming to Europe in three weeks and will visit me personally. So I'll postpone my decision until then. The guarantee of the money would be taken care of. My opinion is that, if nothing definite happens in Paris, I'll have to accept New York for three months after all, for—money; we must have money, plenty of money, if we are to feel comfortable in Paris; and even if I have good prospects for a nice income, it is still a good feeling to have a small amount of capital around and gradually to replace with the earnings what is used for living expenses. Of course, I would rent the larger apartment permanently in the fall, so that you can await me there in comfort; and I consider America merely as an excursion. If Paris materializes, so much the better; then I wouldn't even leave at all. In the meanwhile let things take their course. Moreover, I have received letters from no one; but the "profit" which you dreamed I received has actually come in: the Vienna Choral Society sent me another ducat. (Don't you still have the first one?)
Your news about Karl suddenly enlightens me. Imagine: since I left Venice I have not been able to get a line out of him. I wrote to him three times and finally reminded him in no uncertain terms. God knows whether he ever got my last letters at all. Don't they know when he left there? It is so typical of him that he didn't utter a sound. Still, Emilie and his wife must have received my last warning letter. But what confusions! Did the two just go to Venice on impulse?
As far as the damned war is concerned, I think that those fellows started it only because of my crate of books. That's still standing in Venice. Just yesterday, stupid blockhead that I am, I wrote to Karl that he should take the Siegfried sketches out of it and keep them so that they at least won't get lost with it. It is really awful, and I am so unlucky with such things these days. All I've gotten back are my cigars from last year: they are pretty old by now!
When you told me about Tichatschek I was much pleased: it merely confirms my opinion of this superficial person in whose faithfulness I don't put too much stock, for in the final analysis he doesn't know anyway what he has in me, and if Bärenmaier should come he'll be just as enthusiastic about him. No: no more intimacies; I'll get away as best as I can from all these back-slapping friendships which finally bring me only painful disagreements; on the other hand I whisper to you to become very sociable. This should be quite easy in Paris; I'll gather together a cozy little crowd (Germans, of course) for whom I want to be at home every evening as long as the strict lady of the house does not chase us to the devil. Dinner parties in Paris are out; but sitting around in the evening does not cost much, and it will do me good to relax at night by talking. I have everything in hand now, and if I don't expect too much intelligence, which I certainly won't in such company, it will be very easy for me to gather a congenial circle around me, whereas on the other hand I should not be obligated in any way. These advantages can be found in a metropolis like that, and in that respect Paris is unique. You can have everything, but you can also withdraw from everything. All you have to do is to be in a comfortable situation and not to count definitely on a goal to be achieved in Paris. Neither of these conditions shall apply to us. On the whole I always consider Germany and the German theaters as the basis of my position as well as of my work; I have really found out to my great satisfaction what it can offer and I always find out more. Berlin, for example, will never stop sending me a nice annual income; so far, at least, it has brought me something every three months. Thus I can be a completely free man in Paris, can let everything come to me, and don't have to compromise in the least—which will also keep my social position very independent. If they let me wait too long there and don't perform anything by me, and if my reserve funds run out eventually, I'd go to New York for three months to reestablish the equilibrium. In our old days, then, you shall still have the opportunity to keep the home congenial, and for that you shall be absolute mistress.
In my fortunate position as German exile nothing stands in my way, even in case of war, and I believe, I believe—Paris now will become the quietest and safest place in the world for a long time. So much I must confess, that Louis Napoleon has handled things with devilish cleverness this time; he has extremely favorable chances, in every respect, even as far as Germany is concerned (if they wanted to attack him from there—for he won't attack there now), and, in any case, this war firmly establishes him in France. The people are like that. The Germans had better look out, and if they should get really whipped, I should not know whether to cry or laugh; at most I should feel sorry for Nepomuk! I really don't know why I should get enthusiastic about the German Confederation; I'm glad that several princes are favorably disposed toward me; it is the more shameful that they don't have the energy to help me out decently. God bless them all!
I have lost all patriotism under such miserable circumstances, and see nothing which could give me any enthusiasm. This way I hope to live very peacefully and undisturbed in Paris!
Well, now I have at least used my pen, if not my mouth: but that shall soon happen again too. Now—put the purgatorial summer to good use! Get really well and find some bodily recovery. The rest will then come out all right, and before the end of the summer you'll enter Paris victoriously, as German Empress! And Fips as head court factotum! For the others we'll also find accommodations! For today, then, best regards and a most cordial farewell from
Your
Richard
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 204