I still have to thank you, dear and honoured friend, for your last letter. I should have replied sooner but that I was ill. It lasted nearly a fortnight this time and was particularly tiresome because I really have not time for that sort of thing. Hardly had I recovered a little when I naturally found myself in for double work to make up for what was left undone. My object in writing today—when I have nothing in the least pleasant or interesting to tell you—is to avoid any long gaps in our correspondence and also because Teichmann has been bothering me to send you a document which really serves no purpose at all (by the way, it was sent to me yesterday evening, the 9th). It looks to me now as if it is almost imperative for you to give me full powers in writing (I gave you the details before), which will put an end once and for all to this unfortunate delay in getting your royalties.
As regards the musical papers you wished to see in order to keep pace with the gutter flow of German music and drama, I have commissioned Brendel, Schlesinger, and Bock to do themselves the honour of sending you their respective journals to Venice by book post. The first of these will at least inform you as to the expected royalties. There is no question of a Tannhäuser performance. Formes is often hoarse and seconds Taubert’s niece only in Macbeth, which, thanks to Johanna, is having a great revival in company with all the Italian trash: Romeo, Tancred, Lucrezia. I sincerely regret the departure of the terrible Hofmann (second tenor) from our stage. Tannhäuser was really his principal role and he frequently acted as deputy for the lazy Formes, greatly to the advantage of your takings. Now we have absolutely no substitute at all.
You will have learned from the political papers that, yesterday evening, the regency was at last proclaimed and the most unloved minister in Westphalia, corrupt electioneer and pietist, and darling of the Kreuzzeitung, has been thrown out of the government. In the departments of war and culture we hope for similar happenings. Although I hold aloof from all that kind of thing, I cannot help joining in the general sigh of relief, and the change pleases me, little as it affects me. Madame Laussot was here for a few days, but I saw little of her, as she was completely absorbed by her friend Mademoiselle Alex. Mendelssohn, with whom she was staying. Tomorrow she goes to London to see her sick mother, whom she proposes to nurse during the winter. I am giving her a line to Klindworth; she may be useful to him, just as he will be agreeable for her to know. She looks well and is as clever and witty as ever. Unfortunately she has grown plumper and also deafer. But the Ritters will probably have given you news of her, as she spent some weeks with them in Dresden.
I sent a good long letter to Karl recently. If you do not wish to write yourself, let me have indirect news of you through him. It refreshes me more than anything to keep in touch with you and with him too. Remember I have not a soul here whom I care about except my dear wife. We have no notion of where Liszt is, what he is doing, or when he returns to Weimar. He and “the Highness” have been persistently angry with me ever since Zürich. I hope time will mend matters. Do remain solitary, for heaven’s sake, instead of living for people who are prepared to die opposing you! I have an unspeakable fear that you may once more profane yourself out of kindness of heart and pity. Don’t do it! Forgive my childish terror. My wife sends best remembrances. Her mother was much pleased by your kind reply. The idea of the Buddhist consignment was hers—that is, Cosima’s. Daniel Stern’s drama Jacques Cœur is to be played in Paris. The author is now propagandizing for you in spite of Franz.
Good-bye for today, and keep a kind thought of me, even if you don’t write. When is the second act coming along?
Source: Letters of Hans von Bülow to Richard Wagner, Cosima Wagner, His Daughter Daniela, Luise von Bülow, Karl Klindworth, Carl Bechstein, ed. Richard Count Du Moulin Eckart, trans. Hannah Waller, ed. Scott Goddard (Alfred A. Knopf, 1931), No. 277