My dear Old Friend,
Your book is terrible!
It is all written with such modesty, such restraint, such unwavering love of humanity, and at the same time it excites one to the pitch of madness.
You certainly are one of the most extraordinary of men, and God knows what you may yet do. With your faith you might remove mountains — there can be no doubt of that.
It would be hard to quarrel with you; I have not the least intention of doing so.
I simply devoured your book.
I feel much as you did in prison. How am I to escape? I need rest and concentration to fulfil my mission, which no other man can do for me. But — how to get rest? When lo! of a sudden, a young man appears, as if from heaven, destined for me by the stars. He knows me, and understands me as if by inspiration, as no one else has done. He thanks Fate that has called him so young to the throne, in order that he may befriend me, and realise my ideal. This is his one aim and object. There! And now, on the other hand, just conjure up before your fancy Bavaria! — Munich! — and you will be able to imagine the rest. What I long for above all is rest — for I can bear it no longer, and a general sense of disgust overwhelms me!
But what am I to do? I long to get away to some beautiful corner of Italy, to live as a stranger — a lazzarone — and to rest my shattered nerves. But how can I desert this young King, who clings to me with his whole heart, and leave him to his disgraceful surroundings? That is my position. What will become of me? What can I do? That is what I ask myself, and no answer comes — no human being can tell me — I am too tired!
As to you, I have no fears. You have your vocation, and you will fulfil it. You have even sufficient sense of humour to stick to the Frankfort newspaper.
Accept my best thanks. You have once more done excellently, and your book is worth fully as much as your imprisonment.
Farewell; and keep your affection for me, as I shall ever be heartily true and attached to you.
Your
R. W.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to August Roeckel, trans. Eleanor C. Sellar, with an introductory essay by Houston Stewart Chamberlain (J. W. Arrowsmith, 1897), No. 12