My Dear, My Beloved Friend!
You will be angry with me for not having answered your dear letter, so full of significance for me and so rich in meaning, and for having met with silence your newest writing that has been sent to me. And yet you would be doing me an injustice. The beautiful times are no more, when in company with you I had leisure for passing many hours in chatting away. I resemble the beast of burden that is harnessed early and must work until very evening — one day like all days. How then shall I find time to keep up with my distant friend? As often as I would make a start, I was interrupted. Therefore, do not now expect any long or very spirited communication. You, beloved friend, have found the peace so long wished for. I do not begrudge it to you; it affords you the opportunity to bring to light the hidden treasure of your rich genius. I too have peace, but the peace of the daily round of work. I am not discontented, but many times, especially when professional duty offers little that is stimulating or gratifying, I wish that I also might arrive at the haven of true peace which quickens spirit and heart. Well for me that in my younger days, at the time when you were present here, I have sat at the table of art at your feet. They were the most beautiful, most enjoyable hours of my life.
My external position is one that is honoured; I have become a busy doctor; my activity is remunerative, but it is bought with the complete surrender of myself to my profession. Loyally and full of love, my excellent wife stands at my side; three years ago we celebrated our silver anniversary and we still continue to be a loving married couple. A happy garland of dear children and grandchildren surrounds us; our family life is the happiest. The blessing of our marriage is seven children: six daughters and one son. The swift death of a promising sixteen-year-old son, our beloved Eric, has struck us a wound which never will heal. Our eldest daughter, with whom, with her husband, you became acquainted during your Munich stay in 1865, now has three children. During her short marriage she has suffered much through her own illness or has endured that of her family. But she is cheerful and content, and worthy of the gallant man whom she calls her own. I cultivate sociability very little, and only as much as regard for my family requires. A free evening is a rarity. At most, I am happy when my children sing and play something for me. My boy doesn't play the violin badly at all. On my birthday, I heard some things from the Dutchman and Walther's Prize Song played by him with piano accompaniment. Also Lohengrin and Tannhäuser are given a hearing now and then — what feelings and memories then awaken in me! I do not go to the theatre too frequently. No refreshing spirit holds sway there; or have I become too old? I find no inspiration either on, or before, the stage. The reviewer of a local paper said recently, in discussing a performance of the Philippine Welser: "The sentimental extravagances, so little can one speak in favour of the same, are less dangerous to the development of art than the clever but all-negating and destroying wit which blows over Germany like an icy breath and chills all warmth and enthusiasm for the great and the beautiful." This is quite justly, and certainly in no small part, to be ascribed to the Jews, who unfortunately practise criticism with us, and, without fatherland, without love for the race, without understanding of its inmost being, kill in the bud, with their destructive sarcasm, all the noble impulses of the German spirit. How right you are in what you say of them in your Judaism. It's a pity! — Such high enjoyment, such deeds of artistic mastership, as that afforded us by your performances of the Ninth Symphony, of the theatre concerts, of the Gluck and your own operas, will never again be offered. Well for us that we lived to experience them.
The picture of your family life has given me endless pleasure. At last you too have come into possession of a highly sympathetic wife, who entirely understands you and is of the same mind with you, and so also have you met with the greatest good fortune in being able to call dear, promising children your own. May God preserve them for you and you for them! Gladly should I like to see you in the circle of your dear ones, and be a witness to your happiness. Sooner or later I shall respond to your friendly invitation to visit you in Triebschen. For this summer, however, I am bound by earlier promises which I have given my brother in Havre. I have never visited him as yet, and it would be committing an injustice to decline his pressing invitation.
I have read your autobiography with the deepest interest. How much it conveys that is new and, to me, valuable. Do not let me miss the continuation! I thank you for this proof of your confidence, of which you deem only a few worthy. This pledge of your friendly love and friendly fidelity makes me proud and happy. I call you mine! The tug of the heart which led me irresistibly to you immediately when you first appeared here in Dresden, has not deceived me. Even though I had only a presentiment of it, nevertheless I have been one of the first to recognize you, and I have never let myself be mistaken in having a high opinion of your greatness. I promise you that first of all I shall keep your account to myself, as you wish, and then only make use of it in so far as it has to do with giving out corrections regarding you, your life, and your activity.
In response to your invitation to attend the approaching performance of your latest creations, in Munich, I shall gladly come if circumstances permit it. Here I take pleasure in the production — unfortunately, very imperfect, certainly — of your earlier works, of which Lohengrin is in the repertory and Tannhäuser and Mastersingers are being prepared.
Friend Heine is in good health, in spite of his age and his little disturbances, and he plays the schoolmaster at the Conservatory and elsewhere. However, he has not the right understanding for you and your works.
I conclude in thanking you again for all your love and faithfulness. Continue to preserve them for me! My family greet you heartily. Also from me, most sincere and true heart's greetings to you, your wife, and your child. As ever
Yours,
Anton Pusinelli
Source: The Letters of Richard Wagner to Anton Pusinelli, trans. and ed. Elbert Lenrow (Alfred A. Knopf, 1932), No. 92