Dear Franz,
I am again, or rather still, unwell and incapable of anything. I was just going to write something in the album, so that the Child might have it for the new year. But it will not do; my head is too confused and heavy. I write to you only to tell you so; a real letter I could not accomplish. Apart from this I have nothing to tell you; I mean that I have no materials.
I should like to ask you, however, to return the two acts of the Valkyrie to me at once before you start. I have at last found a good copyist to whom I have promised work, and I am anxious to have the copy finished soon,—perhaps for the same reason which induces insects to place their eggs in safety before they die.
If I ever finish the last act I will send you the whole, although you are so great a man of the world. Till then be of good cheer, and remember that if you are abused you have willed it so. I also rejoice in the fiasco of my Faust overture, because in it I see a purifying and wholesome punishment for having published the work in despite of my better judgment; the same religious feeling I had in London when I was bespattered with mud on all sides. This was the most wholesome mud that had ever been thrown at me.
I wish you joy for the Vienna mud.
Adieu, and do your work well. Of your Christianity I do not think much; the Saviour of the world should not desire to be the conqueror of the world. There is a hopeless contradiction in this in which you are deeply involved.
My compliments and thanks to the Princess, and tell the Child that I was unable to manage it today. When shall I? Heaven knows! It is largely your own fault.
Adieu. I cannot say more, and have, moreover, talked nonsense enough. Farewell, and enjoy yourself.
Source: Project Gutenberg eBook #4234, Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt — Volume 2, No. 207