Tuesday morning.
You did not of course expect me to leave your wonderful, glorious letter unanswered? Or was I supposed to deny myself the splendid right of reply to this noblest of words? But how could I reply, except in a way that is worthy of you? -
The tremendous struggles that we have surmounted, how could they end, except in our victory over every wish and desire?
Did we not know, as we drew closer to each other in our moments of greatest warmth, that this was our goal? -
Of course we did! Only because it was so unheard-of and so difficult could it be attained only through the hardest of struggles. But have we not now fought our last battle? What others might still lie before us? - Indeed, I feel profoundly that they are at an end! -
A month ago, when I informed your husband of my decision to break off all personal contact with you, I had already - renounced you. But in this my feelings were not yet entirely pure. You see, I felt that only total separation, or - total union could save our love from the terrible contagions to which we had seen it exposed in recent months. And so, while, on the one hand, I felt the necessity of our separation, I also felt, on the other, if not a voluntary - at least an imaginary - possibility of our union. Herein lay the sense of tension and strain which neither of us could bear. I came to see you, and it became clear at once to us both that that other alternative was a sin that we should not even contemplate.
As a result, the need for us to renounce each other necessarily assumed a different character: the sense of strain gave way to a gently conciliatory release of tension. The final traces of egoism disappeared from my heart, and my decision to visit you again was now a victory of the most pure humanity over the final stirrings of selfish desire. I wanted only to reconcile, to soothe, to console - to cheer, and thus to find the only happiness that may yet be mine. -
Never before in my life have I felt anything as profoundly or as terribly as in these last few months. All earlier impressions were meaningless by contrast. Such violent shocks as that catastrophe caused me were bound to leave deep scars; and if there was anything calculated to increase the profound seriousness of my frame of mind, it was the state of my wife’s health. For two months I have lived in daily fear of the possible news of her sudden death; for the doctor had felt it necessary to hint that this was a real possibility. Everything around me breathed an aura of death; whether I looked forwards or backwards, all I saw was images of death, and life - as such - lost its final appeal for me. Required, as I was, to show extreme indulgence towards that unhappy woman, I had, nevertheless, not only to take the decision to destroy our latest hearth and home, which we had only just set up, but finally to tell her, much to her own dismay, of the decision that I had taken. -
What do you think I felt when, in the course of these wonderful summer months, I surveyed this charming refuge, which is so uniquely suited to all my wishes and future aspirations, when I wandered through the dear little garden in the morning, saw the abundance of flowers in bloom, and listened to the garden-warbler that had built its nest in the little rose-tree? And what it meant for me to tear myself away from this last anchor-hold, you alone can tell, who know my deepest thoughts!
Do you think that I, who fled from the world once before, could now return to it? Now that I have grown so extraordinarily delicate and sensitive, as a result of my increasing lack of contact with it? My recent meeting with the Grand Duke of Weimar showed me more clearly than ever that I can thrive only in the most unequivocal independence, so that I was obliged to reject from the very depths of my being any suggestion that I might enter into a firm commitment, even with this genuinely amiable prince. I can never, ever return to the world; to settle permanently in a large town is unthinkable; and - must I, instead, think of establishing some new refuge, some new hearth, now that I have been forced to destroy my present one, almost before I had enjoyed it, a refuge which friendship and the noblest love have built for me in this charming paradise? Oh no! - To go away from here means the same for me as to go under!
With these wounds in my heart I can never again attempt to build a home for myself!
My child, I can conceive of only one salvation, and this can come only from the innermost depths of the heart, not from any outer event. It is rest! Rest from longing! The stilling of every desire! Noble, worthy resignation! To live for others, for others - as a comfort to ourselves! -
Now you know the full extent of the solemn and resolute mood that fills my soul; it embraces my entire philosophy of life, the whole of the future, all that is close to me - including yourself, you who are the most precious thing I have! Upon the ruins of this world of longing, let me now - make you happy! -
You see, never in my life, in any relationship, have I ever been importunate but always revealed an almost exaggerated sensitivity. But now I mean to appear importunate to you for the first time, and ask you to be inwardly calm on my account. I shall not often visit you both, and from now on you shall see me only when I am certain of being able to show you a calm and cheerful aspect. - I used to visit your house in suffering and in longing: I brought unrest and suffering to the place where I came seeking comfort. That shall no longer be the case. And so, if you do not see me for some time, - pray for me in silence! - For then you will know I am suffering! But whenever I do come, you may be certain that what I bring to your home is the gracious gift of my very being, a gift such as it is perhaps granted to me alone to bestow upon you, to me who has suffered so much and so willingly. -
Probably, nay - certainly, the time will shortly come, presumably at the beginning of next winter, when I leave Zurich for a relatively long period. My amnesty, which I am now expecting soon, will open up Germany to me again, and I shall return there periodically in order to make up for the one thing that I have been unable to achieve here. Then I shall not see you both for long periods. But then to return once more to the Asyl which has now grown so dear to me, to rest from torments and unavoidable vexations, to breathe pure air, and find renewed enthusiasm for my old work which nature, after all, has chosen me for, - this, if you will not begrudge it me, will always be the gentle beam of light that will sustain me there, the sweet comfort that will beckon me back here.
And - have you not conferred upon me the highest boon that life can give? Did I not thank you for the one thing on earth that can still seem worthy of thanks? And should I not seek to requite you for all that you achieved for me by dint of such unspeakable sacrifices and suffering? -
My child, these last few months have turned the hair at my temples noticeably whiter; there is a voice inside me which calls longingly for rest, - for the rest which, long years ago, I made my flying Dutchman feel. It was a longing for “home” - , not for the wanton pleasures of love! Only a loyal and glorious woman could win this home for him. Let us consecrate ourselves to this beautiful death which contains within it and assuages all our longings and desires! Let us pass away in bliss, with a calmly transfigured gaze and the hallowed smile of fair resignation! And - no one shall lose if we — are victorious!
Fare well, my dear and hallowed angel!
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 214