My dear good old Mutz,
I am sitting here in Venice. Where are you? I assume you must be in Zwickau. But I find it very worrying that I have still not had any news from you. Could you not have written at least a couple of lines to me in Venice poste restante, as I told you to, when I telegraphed to you from Geneva? I arrived here on the 29th of August, and was really hoping for a letter from you. I have been to ask every day, but in vain. Today I have finally begun to get very anxious. You now have to face a very difficult period, and one which will certainly be of great sadness for you; I asked you to ensure that it was as brief as possible. And so I continue to suppose that you left after all on the 29th, since you still remembered that day from when you arrived in Zurich. I pray to God that I receive a letter from you tomorrow which will confirm this, and, at the same time, tell me that you summoned up all your strength and successfully overcame all obstacles. There is nothing I can say to you in addition to what I have already said that will comfort and sustain you. All I can do is call out to you: hope, and do not lose heart! You see, you poor woman, your fate should have granted you a calmer and more uniform existence, but it was bound up with the fate of a man who, however much he, too, desired tranquil happiness, was nevertheless destined in each and every respect to develop in such an extraordinary way that he himself now believes it necessary to renounce his wishes, simply in order to fulfil his life’s task. All that I now seek is inner composure in order to be able to complete my works: fame no longer has any effect upon me, and I despair of ever seeing my works successfully performed, - nothing, nothing - save for work, creative work itself, can keep me alive. That such an extraordinary fate must necessarily inspire extraordinary sympathy is entirely natural; there are many people who have felt a deep and sincere devotion for me. If you have been made to suffer as a result, these sufferings will one day be taken into account, and your reward shall be - my prosperity, and the prosperity of my works. But for now - let us not think only of the future. Let us seek to surmount the present, and hope to find peace of mind, reconciliation and charitableness, which we may then enjoy. -
Do not ask me to tell you much about Venice today. I am dreadfully overwrought as a result of the journey and, especially, of looking for an apartment. I shall not recover my senses until I have established myself here as well and as comfortably as is necessary if I am to hold out; you know that where I live counts for a good deal with me; and I must now set my sights on settling down in one place in order to be able to continue my work. I am of course living in furnished accommodation: there is no other kind. My landlord, who is Austrian, was delighted to house such a famous name. All such apartments here are in large palaces that have been abandoned by their former aristocratic owners; speculators have now turned them into apartments for foreigners. But I shall tell you all about this next time. For today let me say only that I hope to be able to hold out in Venice; this town is exceedingly interesting, and the actual stillness - one never hears a carriage - is indispensable for me. I receive no visitors, and hope to live here totally withdrawn into myself. For the moment I am seeing Karl every day for lunch, for which we always arrange to meet at a restaurant in St Mark’s Square. If ever this arrangement should no longer suit me, I can have the meal brought to my apartment. It really does not seem at all expensive; only the apartment is relatively not cheap. I am about to write to Heim to tell him to send me the grand piano at once; he will have no import duty to pay for the simple reason that Venice is a free port. I do not think I shall need the bed linen and beds; I must of course make do with something inferior.
And now, my dear old Minna, accept my most sincere and heartfelt congratulations on your birthday! You poor thing, if only it could have been a better one! But it consoles me to think that you will at least spend it with your relatives, as you did 4 years ago. On that occasion it did you a lot of good; may it be of some comfort to you this time, too! Give them my very best wishes; get better during the time you are with them, and try to forget as best you can! Look on the bright side, and hope that we may soon see each other again in Germany. I am sending you a genuine Venetian present as a souvenir for your birthday: I hope it arrives in time. And so, take heart! Remain calm! Look after your health! If you want to send a really fine present to me in exile, send me word that you are feeling somewhat better, and are hoping to get over your sufferings! Fare you well! A thousand heartfelt, heartfelt greetings! And give my regards to good old Fipps, and even that stupid parrot, Mr. Jacquot! I, by contrast, am now in a totally strange world! Nothing around me except my manuscripts, which show me what I still have to do and - to suffer! You have taken our household goblins with you: look after them, they mean a lot to me as well! Adieu! Adieu! Do not stop loving me!
Your
Richard.
Here is my address, which you must always get someone to write out for you in a very clear hand.
Herr Richard Wagner
Canale Grande, Palazzo Giustiniani
Campiello Squillini No. 3228
in Venice.
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 218