At last I have sorted myself out, my dear little Minnikins! This is the first morning I have spent in peace and quiet - for several days - and I intend using it straightaway to write you a far more sensible letter than has been the case up to now. I have lots to tell, though nothing in the least extraordinary. You know that it was not Friday but Saturday that I planned to continue my journey from Paris: it was not until very late that I first saw our old friends again. Kietz appears not to be getting on very well with his concierge: he did not look in on her on the next day either, so that he never received my note; only when I had again failed to meet him did I issue stricter orders. It was the evening of my second day there that I finally set eyes on the stupid boy, with Lindemann in tow: needless to say, he was again having trouble meeting his tailor’s bills! - But he and Lindemann insisted upon inviting Anders and me to a restaurant on my last evening. Anders has become incredibly childish: he can no longer trust himself to cross the road on foot, but each time waits for a passing ’bus and then has himself driven across the street in it; a few days earlier he had fallen over in the library, and broken his spectacles etc. in short it was all very distressing.
This time I also saw Rachel, in Cinna, but it was a strange experience seeing this kind of virtuosity in action; it pained me very much. Even if the woman were to sing like a goddess while acting, I’d have no use for her in any of my operas. More on this in person when I am back. -
The journey to London finally passed off quite well; since the weather was fine, the crossing from Calais to Dover lasted only two hours, although by the end of it I was beginning to feel somewhat ill, so that I had to lie down; in Dover we stupidly had to wait 2½ hours for the train.
It was odd that in Paris I had to put up with bad weather and fog, whereas I arrived in London - which is notorious for its weather - under a beautiful, cloudless sky. It took the cabman a full hour to drive at a brisk trot from the station to Praeger’s house: in the same time I could as easily have driven from Zurich to Dr Wille’s house at Mariafeld. It is a dreadfully large city, and, in terms of its area, Paris is simply a village in comparison! - As I told you yesterday, Praeger was very obliging and friendly: but he explained straightaway that if I wanted any peace of mind, I must first of all pay a few quick visits on various people; I complied, and so we then drove all round London until I thought we were never going to finish; Praeger accompanied me everywhere and thus sacrificed his valuable time to helping me. By midday yesterday we had finally finished; we then looked for somewhere for me to stay and indeed found rooms that appeal to me greatly and where I now hope to be able to work in peace and undisturbed - which remains my main concern, whereas the concerts are really of only secondary importance. I am living close to one of the most beautiful parts of the Regent’s Park, not at all far from the zoological gardens. Between the front of the house and the road is a tiny little garden, and across the road there are the beautiful trees of the park, so that I can really look forward to the springtime when everything will be green. God knows, I need something to look forward to if I am to tolerate the prospect of spending four whole months here engaging in activities that are totally alien to my nature. If only I can complete my work everything will be well, so that I can then make an immediate start on Young Siegfried on my beloved Seelisberg. But, of course, the rooms are not cheap: they cost two pounds a week. But really, the main thing is that they are pleasant rooms; otherwise I could not last out here. I intend saving money in other ways. For the time being I dine at Praeger’s, who lives only a quarter of an hour away: a stone’s throw by local standards; we shall see what happens later. Mr Anderson immediately invited me to a great banquet which the Queen’s Musicians are holding this Thursday; I thanked him kindly, but declined. I intend to start as I mean to go on: I shall conduct my concerts, and that’s all! People must learn to see that I am even more English than they are themselves. But I am very much afraid of the concerts themselves: although the orchestra is said to be very good, I am told that they are incapable of playing piano; only forte, without any variety. They actually do have only one rehearsal, at which I am expected to play through two symphonies, two overtures, and the remaining concert items. How do they expect me to manage? - When I asked about the programme for the first concert, the first agreeable surprise they sprang on me was Lachner’s “Prize Symphony”, which had been chosen as a novelty! Well, I wasted no time in throwing it out and told the gentlemen concerned that they could not expect me to trouble myself with such things. Of course, the stupid devils immediately realized they were in the wrong and invited me to attend their committee today, when they will arrange the repertoire entirely to suit my own wishes. And so I think we shall perform a symphony by Haydn and the Eroica or else the C minor Symphony by Beethoven; as overtures they have already decided upon the Magic Flute (so as to have something by Mozart) and Fingal’s Cave (so as to have something by Mendelssohn). I have no objection to this. Ernst will play a concerto by Spohr. I do not yet know who will be singing. Unless anything untoward happens, I shall not write to you again until after the rehearsal (on Saturday). But in the mean time I shall expect a letter from you with impatience. I pray to God that you have only good news to send me, especially as regards your health and your attitude of mind: I am sure it is a bad thing that I have had to leave you alone again!
Believe me, my love, although we do not always think alike and now and then express differing views on this or that, neither of us can look back on life without seeing how close we are to each other and what great demonstrations of love and endurance we have shown each other in the most difficult and often the most terrible situations. Just imagine the memories that come flooding back as I step forth in London once again, where 16 years ago we once wandered the streets in such fear and distress. All that you have had to go through with me has been very hard for you. And in truth, if I could now make things any easier for you, it would certainly give me the most heartfelt satisfaction to do so. But the fact that I do not rightly know how to go about this and really only ever continue to cause you distress and worry, well, that is my curious fate which I often sincerely regret for your sake more than mine. It moved me deeply to see how difficult you again found it to say goodbye to me this last time; whatever I can do at a distance to make the period of our separation as agreeable as possible you may be assured that I shall do it. I know that what you would like best of all is to receive good news from me: but this is something I can really only give you if I feel completely free and at ease in my work, now that this work has become my only reward in life. It pleases me to know that you yourself expect no more from here than honour and a successful outcome to my artistic activities, however limited these activities may be in scope. My art will never make me rich, and only the knowledge of being able to find a few loyal and totally devoted souls can constitute the riches of my life. For them alone can I remain active in this world. It is in this sense that I hope I shall always be able to send you good news; but only when I have nothing else on my mind. I am heartily glad to know that you now think exactly the same as I do. And so - expect only good news, and in that way make the period of our separation seem shorter, just as I plan to do the same by means of my beloved work!
[...]
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 180