Most valued Herr Otto!—
I really should be the most ungrateful man in the world, if I did not think of you to-day. Here I sit by the Lago Maggiore, smoking the first of your cigars of the gods upon my journey. It weighs on my heart that I was so rude as to leave Zurich without a farewell: God knows I could not manage it! Tired out and in ill-humour, after I had turned my back on the Bâle drinkers' (I meant to say, singers') feast (to which I did not even go), I had nothing in mind but to get away — away — away! I should only have plagued you with my temper. But now I have run through the Bernese Oberland, climbed Faulhorn and Sidelhorn, and at last trudged over the very dangerous Gries glacier into the Formazza-thal, through which I came down yesterday to Domodossola. That last day's march was decidedly the most glorious thing that ever has happened to me! From the regions of perpetual ice, through a series of sloping valleys, gradually to descend upon the most luxuriant Italian vegetation, was something quite new to me! I have laughed like a child over the wonders so often described and read, but never yet seen and tasted by me.
To-day I first find rest: hitherto I had always been as though in chase: the most majestic world of Alps to me seemed but the gate through which I must pass, to taste delight at last. With a true sense of bliss I now look across the lake to the plains! Yes, there is the world that yet might yield me sweet impressions. The influence of the Italian air on me is indescribable. I pushed on yesterday evening, and drove from Domodossola to Baveno on the Lago Maggiore: how I felt with such an ever-smiling sky! — I don't know whether I shall have time to write to my wife to-day, but to-morrow I must begin and fire at her to come and join me; gladly would I have every one I'm fond of by my side just now: would that you could come too! To-day I go on to Locarno, and to-morrow to Lugano. However, I should like to return here again with somebody. I am very lonely: and it begins to be a burden to me.
God of mercy, whatever am I stringing together? Don't take it badly! Only one thing more: how many people there are, of my acquaintance, whom I heartily deplore for not enjoying their life more finely than they do. Of course that doesn't apply to you. But I wish I were a genius like Herr von Flotow — writing operas like Martha, and doing — just what I can not!
How goes it with Donna Mathilda's studies in thorough-bass? Let us hope she will have finished her first fugue by the time I return; then I will teach her to write operas à la Wagner, so that she may put her knowledge to some use! Afterwards you'll have to sing in them: we can translate your part into English, by all means, as you sing nothing but English!
See, this foolish stuff is the result of your cigars: if I were to smoke another, I should go clean off my head: how that would delight some people! — God save your lordship! Farewell, and if a cigar should happen to make you feel lively, just write me too (to Lugano — poste restante); only, mind you take a better pen than I've got hold of! — Should you see my wife to-day please give her my best love; and preserve a friendly recollection of
Your
Richard Wagner.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to Wesendonck et al., trans. and indexed by William Ashton Ellis (Grant Richards, 1899), No. 1