Dear Friend,
Sometimes everything seems bewitched, and I only need desire a moment's luxury to be certain that a box on the ears will at once remind me of my proper place in this world. I wrote to you lately how it was that now, above all times, I was looking anxiously for money: good. To-day W.'s letter arrives, which announces to me that, having taken cognizance of the Guide to the performance of Tannhäuser, the Leipzig theatre must give up that opera: that the score had been sent back to you — good! Then of a sudden my wife strikes in with a lament that to-day is already the first of October, and that she is in despair at not being able to send the rent-money to her parents! That, indeed, is the hardest case of all; for the moment I have no money, and if Frankfort does not send soon I shall be in a sorry plight. Now you spoke to me about your children's money-boxes, of a father-in-law who would help in case of need, etc. Do say if you could advance me ten thalers until the beginning of November (when you will again receive R.'s money for me), and give them in my name to my mother-in-law. That was the first idea that occurred to me. If you cannot, perhaps I may light on another expedient. It is really too absurd that I should be just now in such a fix: that ridiculously-cheap-linen affair is the cause of it all. If I could only conquer my propensity for buying bargains!
The Leipzigers are a nice lot! Master Rietz has not managed even to write a single line. Well, they might all be carried off in a sack, for aught I care! Good riddance to them!
Belloni is again giving me plenty to do: he particularly wants me to go to Paris, where he says people would now make a mighty fuss about me. As he cannot attain his end in any other way, he is trying to tempt me with Tannhäuser in French for the Grand Opera.
Herwegh, who also is much in favour of that, wishes to make the prose translation. One thing sets my blood a-tingling: Roger (so far as I know him) would be the only singer who could play Tannhäuser to my heart's content: he is the right sort of man, and, besides, understands German. And Johanna, too, in Paris: you see something is being whispered about — but anyhow I won't give an answer for the present. Keep the whispering all to yourself!
You know that I have renounced belief. Shall I not soon receive a letter from you again? Only write some amusing tale, something real good: you're a hand at telling fibs. Farewell, and —!
(Peps is now playing the bassoon.)
These are the wishes of
Your affectionate ami,
R. W.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to His Dresden Friends, Theodor Uhlig, Wilhelm Fischer, and Ferdinand Heine, trans. J. S. Shedlock (Scribner & Welford, 1890), No. 83