Oh, you dear and precious friend! - To see your handwriting again was a great comfort to me; no more welcome or more beautiful gift could have been bestowed upon me than these blessed lines of yours. You can have no idea of the suffering I have been through, - and how sad, in spite of the smiling spring, everything around me seems; but I shall not torment your dear affectionate heart by giving you a glimpse into the hopelessness of my situation! - It is sufficient for me to tell you that my wife, too, is now suffering from the most agonizing ill health; as a result of receiving the wrong treatment from her doctor - a treatment that I had repeatedly but vainly warned her against - , a recurring illness from which she has suffered for many years has finally developed into a heart disease which, last winter, assumed so painful a character that she has finally abandoned our little house and garden and embarked upon a thorough course of treatment. For the last four weeks she has been in Brestenberg with Dr Erismann, whose acquaintance has also been made by Frau Julie in the company of her husband. In view of my success with Dr Vaillant of Geneva, which for the last two years has freed me from the need for any other form of medical treatment, I attempted to persuade my wife to undertake a similar course of treatment under the supervision of this admirable doctor; however, since a friend of ours had recommended Dr Erismann particularly warmly to us, she preferred the proximity of Zurich, and, to judge by her progress so far (a progress which, in the case of such a dreadfully advanced nervous complaint, is bound of course to be very slow), we believe we have chosen the right course. And so, for the present at least, I now have outward calm, even though I continue to be plagued by worries of every description. But what I have had to put up with this winter from this quarter alone is something that can be understood only by those who know the character of such heart complaints. Continual sleeplessness finally induces a terrible degree of excitability, a determination to see only the black side of everything, and such passionate outbursts that I freely admit that I - a man who is happy never to set foot outside his own back door - felt my home had become an absolute hell. Instead of being met by the forbearance and charitableness which I need, given my irritability and the continually exhausting nature of my work, I had the additional task of having to think of this other worry, too, in each of my words and glances, without, however, generally managing to achieve what I was forcing myself to attempt. - In any case, my wife, too, finds it impossible to tolerate this lonely life of ours in winter; she cannot adequately entertain herself, but needs outside distractions. Next winter she will in any case live in Germany - Dresden, Berlin, Weimar - , while I expect that I myself shall go to Paris. How passionately I, too, long for my amnesty in these circumstances is something you can easily imagine; all desire to work finally deserts me if I am obliged for ever to work only for the written page; and since I am resolved never again to allow any new work of mine to receive its first performance without me, the result of all this is a feeling of paralysis and a sense of faltering inspiration of the most worrying kind. In addition, I have had to countenance the grievous loss of any kind of income during recent months, not to mention my anxiety and the perpetual uncertainty that I suffer, so that you can understand with what a singular and wonderful feeling I receive the continuing tokens of your loyalty and concern. Now more than ever before, the calm and eternal sameness of your friendship for me reveals to me the most genuine boon that has ever been granted to me. I cannot tell you how it moves me!
[...]
Finally, let me tell you of a most cheering and edifying adventure. On my journey to Paris last winter, I missed my connection in Basle, and was obliged to spend half a day and a night in Strasbourg; as I was sauntering through the streets, I noticed a theatre playbill announcing a play and, beneath it, in large letters, the overture to Tannhäuser with which the performance was to begin. Quite by chance I was given a seat near the orchestra, and some of the musicians recognized me from Zurich, quickly informing their colleagues and the conductor of my presence. I waited for the performance to begin with a feeling of tense trepidation: it was the first time for ages that I had been able to hear an orchestra again, or, indeed, any composition of mine conducted by another person. To my most agreeable surprise it was played very well, indeed, much of it was excellent, finely detailed and the whole piece enthusiastically executed, so that I was intensely moved and deeply shaken by it; the melancholy chorus of pilgrims at the end had an especially profound and solemn significance for me. At the end, when the piece was applauded, the orchestra rose to their feet and, with their conductor at their head, turned to me with loud applause and gave me an ovation, whereupon the audience became aware of my presence and quickly realized who I must be, so that, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I found myself subjected to an act of public homage such as I have never before experienced. I had to leave the auditorium at once. -
You see, that’s how it is with me: always right down in the depths, and - suddenly - high up, on wondrous heights! -
A thousand sincere regards to your dear, beloved family. My thanks, my heartfelt thanks for your heaven-sent friendship, and every good wish for your continuing health!
Yours,
Richard Wagner.
I do not know where Karl is staying, and so I would ask you to forward the enclosed note to him as quickly as possible: it contains nothing but a sincere invitation to him to visit me soon. -
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 212