My old Friend,
You see, here as well as in Paris my address has been the same and will remain so for some time to come—unfortunately! You have known my flat in Paris for a long time, indeed you even have a claim to it since you recently advanced me the money for a payment which I am not as yet able to repay you— In time one picks roses—until now I have not harvested anything but thorns—those I neither can nor will send you, so I keep silent.
By the end of last year I had hoped to give up this apartment and my Parisian one; but I could not manage it and so still I have this burden on my shoulders, but also the advantage that letters addressed there are forwarded to me here. I herewith recall my present local address as well as myself to your memory. By the way, letters without detailed specification of my address reach me too. I've become a true Epernacien. Your new address has been forwarded to me. You are everywhere and nowhere! Nowhere at least for me.
Since we saw each other you have been in London, in Belgium, in Germany, and in many other countries, even in Epernay! For I don't doubt that the railway has carried you through here at least four times. Probably it only occurred to you later that I live here, otherwise you would probably have notified me in advance of your trip through here, so that I might have met you at the station as in former times, or, since I live just opposite the station and since the train stops here for a considerable time, you might have sent for me or might have skipped across yourself—you did not make this skip because I could not make the greater one to Paris, which at that time was impossible for me. You misjudge my situation, and therefore you want to misjudge me: tu cherches querelle allemande!
For a long time I have been preparing myself for this letter as if for a trial sermon that shall grant me the readmittance to the temple of friendship. An awful fear or shyness kept me from finding a beginning or end. I really don't know how and what to write to you under such circumstances as mine. I had hoped to get the theme from you. For days and years you have owed me a reply. That you don't give me any, seems to be proof for me that you are offended, and that—oblivious of our old friendship and my faithful love—you do not care for any news from me, you want to break off.
With these lines I am making one more desperate effort—if there is no answer soon, your silence will have confirmed my sad suppositions.
I have been struck by fate so hard that I am becoming almost insensitive to new blows. This one, though, would still hurt me deeply, though I have known already for a long time what a low opinion you hold of me. In fact, I succumbed to all misfortune whereas you gained strength in your resistance against it. To fight and to create, these are vital necessities for you. However, whereas my body was stronger than my spirit—yours succumbed, for as I have been told, you have even been very ill, my poor friend. But fortunately I learned about your complete recovery at the same time, and I am glad to see you well and steering towards a goal that will crown your efforts and will embellish your good wife's housekeeping.
Forgive and forget! Think of me as you knew me in former times and herewith receive with good will my "Happy New Year" and my congratulations for this year so decisive for you, of course also the best wishes for your good wife.
It is just three years ago that I embraced you here and saw you for the last time. You made many beautiful promises at that time, both orally and written. Now I am facing contempt and indifference. However I am not angry with you at all, you are not the only one, I get well enough accustomed to it. The only evil is that one generally thinks of those good intentions and promises as if they had become reality, and one does not understand at all why I continue to remain in misery. But still worse is the good advice which is being dealt out to me as cash payment from all sides and in the most contradictory ways. If it is not complied with, the most bitter reproaches follow, again in lieu of cash payment, and that's the end. However, for a long time I haven't been considered worthy of either. "There is nothing to repair in a complete ruin," that is what the dear and faithful friends whisper to one another, and they console their consciences by convincing themselves that they have done what they could.
Well, it is all the same to me, all the same! As far as a place to sleep and a feeding trough are concerned, they are provided for me here. So I am vegetating like a plant growing among ruins. Memories alone still live fresh in me, and the dearest ones are those of our former friendship. Do not destroy them for me.
Since that time I have had one more happy period in my life, and that is here in the house of Paul Chandon. You too appeared there at that time as if the former happiness were to be joined with the new one. Unfortunately both of us were not in our Elysium that day! You even regretted this one day's stay as inconsistent, and did not show any gratitude to the Chandons, though I had requested you for my sake to do so, in written form at least. All sorts of petty quarrels like this have expelled me from this paradise. And however much I, grateful soul, would like to show myself grateful to them, they bar me from every opportunity to do so. Until today the abyss between us has grown more and more insurmountable, at least as regards the wife and her obstinacy—her blank stare struck you already at that time. By the way, Paul is an enthusiastic adherent of you and your works, and he defends your works and tendencies with zeal and bon sens.
But I am chattering a lot of useless stuff in order to fill my letter, which is not meant to say anything more than: have pity upon me, give me as a New Year's gift your old friendship again, and I also ask Frau Minna for hers; and do not let me wait for this reassurance.
In faithful love your most faithful friend
E. B. Kietz
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 228