My dear Cornelius,
I am very unhappy and need someone to whom I can pour out my sorrows! I cannot turn to a woman’s heart: I would only cause it more pain because of its helplessness than I would find comfort for myself. The hardest thing to endure is to know oneself so utterly alone in one’s troubles and anxieties, and to have to decide everything on one’s own. It then occurred to me, as though by some providential decree, that I have you to turn to! You will understand me, and I can unburden at least some of my heart’s anguish on you. -
My dearest friend, it is now clear that I cannot possibly live with my wife any longer. You cannot know what a world of meaning is contained in these few words. My heart bleeds: and yet I realize that I must suppress all feelings of soft-heartedness, since my only salvation lies in firmness and in frankness.
You know how much I yearned for a return to domestic routine, and how I thought that I could achieve that aim only by being reunited with my wife. While I was sadly attempting to order my household arrangements for the winter here in Biebrich, my wife, moved by my distress, suddenly took it into her head to emulate you, with the result that, instead of sending me a reply by letter, she herself turned up in my room, where I had just completed my makeshift arrangements. My heart leapt, and she must soon have realized how I felt when she saw my great joy and emotion. I reproached her for not having brought her parrot and come for good, instead of which she had come for only a week in order to help me settle in. But we immediately discussed a permanent arrangement in Wiesbaden. She looked fit and well, which proved how she always recovers her health when she is on her own, pursuing her own inclinations in whom she sees and the life she leads, when undisturbed by me. How I now pondered upon ways of ensuring that our future lives together might be made permanently bearable by means of all manner of sensible conventions and concessions, in spite of our totally opposed inclinations, characters and outlook! The terrible misfortune of having no young children to mediate between us and of being thrown back upon ourselves in consequence of my preference for leading a life apart inevitably led to constant friction between us, a state of affairs that became all too perceptible on the very first day: but I was filled with such good intentions that I willingly addressed her in the same strangely make-believe language that one uses with children, listening with apparent interest to things which are totally remote from me and often downright repellent. I attempted to suppress by force the strange stirrings of that conscience which allows no untruth to flourish, and fell asleep that first night in the calm belief that all things might henceforth be possible. - The next morning fate intervened in a remarkable way, providing such striking proof of its workings that I could not help but be amazed. Listen!
Since our last meeting in Venice there had been an unintentional but lengthy interruption to the correspondence between me and my friend Frau Wk. Everything between us is now so well understood and so well organized on the basis of total resignation that I have continued to write to her only on the occasional friendly impulse, the more especially since my dealings with her most upright but - personal relations apart - tiresome husband have proved so insupportable that I have renounced any more lasting personal contact with them both and remain only in intermittent contact by letter, a form of communication intended to lighten the burden of her life especially. At such unsettled and distressing times as these present months have been, I prefer to say nothing at all. And so it happened that my friend had heard nothing at all of my journey to Paris, and had sent a small Christmas present to me in Vienna which, after many wanderings, was eventually returned to her in Zurich. I later wrote to her from Paris and informed her of my plans to move to the Rhine, whereupon she wrote to report the mishap that had befallen her Christmas present, and begged me to let her have my later address on the Rhine, so that she could then send me the gift that she had intended for me. This I did while I was still in Mainz. For a long time I remained without news, until she finally announced in a brief note that she had been in Düsseldorf, attending her mother’s funeral, whereupon I immediately sent her my sincere condolences. - She then wrote at some length to thank me both for my letter and for informing her about the Mastersingers, and announced that she had just sent off my belated Christmas present. Her letter arrived here on the second day of my wife’s visit, her Christmas present on the third day, and both of them immediately fell into the unhappy woman’s hands. Incapable of seeing my relations with that woman in anything but a disgustingly trivial light, she refused to listen to any of the explanations which I offered her simply to calm her down, but vented her feelings in that vulgar tone of voice which again caused me to lose my self-command: she interpreted the violence of my reaction as the result of that woman’s continuing and disturbing influence on me, and - the whole insane edifice stood before me once more, bright and unshaken! I felt as though I were losing my reason. Here was this woman at exactly the same point she had been four years ago: word for word precisely the same outbursts, the same vulgar tone! - Having survived these storms, I recovered my self-possession, tried to see what had happened as a final tempestuous outburst of madness, - and tried to continue to hope, and not deny any possibility. But the full extent of our misery now stood revealed more clearly than ever before: suspicion, mistrust; every word ill construed! Added to that, our complete isolation here; to be alone during long winter evenings with a creature who does not understand my own nature in the slightest, and who, as soon as I pick up a book, is unable so much as to follow me in this, since she does not know how to occupy herself. And here I am, wanting nothing but quiet and peace of mind, and yearning to get back to my work, but having to make appalling efforts to overcome the hardships caused by my circumstances and present situation, and disagreeably upset by every contact with the outside world, including gossip & such like! Finally, my wife’s worsening heart disease! It was ten days of hell, but at least these ghastly 10 days had the advantage of serving as a final warning, and I could not help but be amazed that this grave warning should have come, in all innocence, from my friend!
You can readily imagine the firm resolve that has now matured within me! Curiously enough, my wife, who after all must suffer her own private hell in my company, always finds it difficult, when she has calmed down, to adhere to views which she appears to acquire only in moments of passion. When I heard her suddenly begin to talk about setting up house again, a very real sense of horror seized hold of me! - Oh, what misery to let such wretchedness go on for so long! My wife will manage, since I shall keep up appearances for her sake! It is, and will remain, impossible for me ever to divorce her: it is too late for that, and the inhumanity of such a procedure revolts me. And so I am resolved on the following expedient. From next autumn my wife is to settle in Dresden on her own with our furniture and effects, apart from the few things that I shall keep with me here, and she will reserve a room “for me” there. Under the - entirely valid - pretext that I need a refuge where I can work in peace, I shall continue to maintain a small permanent lodging such as the one I am now occupying, and - perhaps I shall visit my wife occasionally for a few weeks at a time. That is how things shall seem, simply in order that they may seem inoffensive! But how favourable our circumstances would have to be if this arrangement were to be even moderately tolerable! What this means in detail is running two households, - by someone who is scarcely equal to running one. For I cannot conceal from myself the fact that my outward situation is rapidly deteriorating! I can be of no further use to myself. The gulf between me and the so-called world of art is growing wider and wider. My friend, there is no one I can still talk to! Whenever I meet a Kapellmeister or a theatre manager, or even a man like Raff, I have to cross myself, and try to hide away in some corner where I can be my own master. What shall I do about Schotts? I feel as though I shall have to dupe them all, and that I shall indeed do so! My only refuge continues to be the young Grand Duke of Baden: there is a native nobility of feeling here, happily wedded to an open and free intelligence. The man knows how things stand with me, and is entirely of the opinion that I should never have to ask for a penny for my works. Well, he is not rich or powerful enough, but I am certain that I shall shortly be receiving from him the one thing that will be of use to me. Even now it is a pleasure for me to be able to speak with him openly and without dissimulation. What I should like is for him to engage me personally, and provide for my life and works in “naturalibus”. I should then assign a small pension to my wife. But however this question of my outward existence may yet be resolved and however favourable the solution, I fear that it will scarcely reassure me as to the one point that really gnaws away at my heart. I am so dreadfully full of regrets. It appals me to think of anyone suffering because of me!
And so it requires an enormous effort to make myself see reason. It is entirely self-evident that, whatever the circumstances, my wife is better away from me than with me: indeed, I can see quite clearly that she has no real feelings of love for me: she recognizes only the injustice done to her and deep down inside her is incapable of ever forgiving me for it. But - that’s how it is: the world we perceive lies within ourselves; I imagine that things must be different, and that genuine sadness and deep affection alone can cause suffering, and - my own heart bleeds. Ever since the day before yesterday, when I left my unhappy wife in Frankfurt, still angry and thinking only of herself, a gnawing sense of unease has continued to rankle in me, and only the certain knowledge that soft-heartedness would merely serve to prolong the torments that we both suffer can finally teach me - resignation. - Oh God! I then grow tearful and say: oh for some kind womanly being to take me gently in her arms! But I am closing my heart to that now! In that way, I believe all my wife’s sorrows will be avenged! -
Ah! -
Tell me what has been happening to you? You were not at Esser’s on Sunday: did you have an accident on the way?
Your disappearance while we were still taking our leave of each other touched us all very deeply. This whole visit was like something out of a fairytale: however did you manage it? Your guardian angel left with you, just as he arrived with you. You left me with some curious people on the whole. One evening recently I asked if your sister could be invited to the Schotts (I wanted to read them something), but she was unable to come. I am still feeling rather ill-tempered. But I have grown fond of Weissheimer; I like his seriousness and great industry. And I consider him to be not without talent. He often comes out to see me. - Nothing will come of the Raffs. Allow me to pass over in silence an adventure in Darmstadt. -
Life here is very agreeable. You ought to come and enjoy the springtime here with me. Of course, I have not got round to doing any work: it is incredible how our lives are snatched away from us. - I am now busy discharging a pile of epistolary debts. -
Greetings to Esser and the Standhartners. The doll has written me a most wonderful letter. Oh, how I’d like to have her here! - Write and tell me what you are doing. Everything within me and around me is still utterly desolate, like the month of March itself! There is a tremendous feeling of disgust deep down inside me. If I do not get down to work soon, it will all be over. Heavens, if only I had a year of peace and relative comfort! -
Well, take what is of use to you from this pile of news from a man who is utterly worn out! Remain cheerful, remember me with affection, and think up another fairy-tale soon.
Adieu, my friend! It is all very sad!
Your R.W.
(I too feel indebted to O. Bach: he deserves better consideration, the poor man.)
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 276