[...] Do you really think that I would leave you without a single glance back? Whatever you may think of me you must surely think well enough of me to believe that I should ever preserve and cling to the imperishable value of your personality, so significantly and deeply involved in my life. Recent years have kept us much apart; it might have seemed better, perhaps, that each should go his own way without any forced regard for the other. Our relationship became abstract but at the same time we avoided artificiality, which a false actuality might have imparted. Thus—at least in your image as retained by me—all that might mutually have seemed strange or even repellent was smoothed and rubbed away and purged of the dross of personality, and the true matter of character shone out all the purer. I can now hold fast to my interior knowledge of you, a very great and true gain, the joy of which I want to express to you to-day. You are my first and only experience of what it means to associate with greatness of character. I am proud that you should at one time have taken the trouble to seek an understanding with me. The conditions and needs of a nature such as mine, made for art alone, must in the end compel me to follow paths where a pre-eminently practical nature like yours, however theoretically broad-minded and intelligent, can only follow from afar. Be assured that I shall never cease to bend an inquiring gaze on your face, never seek to withdraw myself from your eyes' searching glance. I know that as long as I remain true to myself I shall experience the recurring moment in which, despite all dissimilarity, our eyes will meet in full mutual understanding.—And so, take my thanks for the great, the priceless, gift of your friendship, which I shall strive to keep dear and unprofaned to my life's end!—
Whatever you may have heard about my apparently sudden departure from Zurich I must leave as it stands. [Alexander] Müller was, I believe, to some extent initiated and could supply you with information, but it is very doubtful if he is intelligent enough to supply that information correctly. At the time it was impossible for me to take an ordinary polite farewell of Zurich. I had to run the risk of leaving my friends in doubt about me for a while, knowing that when I had time and leisure I could give them the necessary explanations. You are the first to whom I write with this end in view and—may very likely be the only one, for to speak truth, you are the only one whom I really care about.
From certain hints I gave it probably did not escape you that my wife's condition, more particularly as it resulted from the increasing gravity of her heart disease, became so disquieting to me that at last some total change in our way of life had to be considered. Unfortunately it chanced that by what I can only call a petty-minded interpretation of certain personal relations of mine which were really quite unconnected with our matrimonial relation, she believed herself actually wronged. Thereupon, influenced largely by her painful physical condition (which in these cases, of course, affects the mind very much), she lost her customary judgment and forgot herself so far as to open the subject with our near neighbours. Such a disturbance necessarily involved our neighbourly relations and despite my sincere efforts to restore them I was finally forced to the decision to give up our residence in Zurich.
My consequent sufferings on all hands, due both to stupidity and passion, must surely absolve me from any guilt I may have incurred in this matter. In making this decision and carrying it through in the face of uncommon obstacles I had to renounce many things which had grown dear to me, of which I will only mention one—the charming, the long-desired house and plot of land.—But enough! It was to be, and for the present the result shows that I did the best as well as the most righteous thing possible. Among my motives for making the change was the need to bring about a temporary separation between myself and my wife. In our constant close association, quite without outside distraction, it became impossible for me with my excitable temperament always and under all circumstances to remember her ill-health of body and mind. To my bitter regret quarrels of ever-increasing violence recurred and ultimately became daily matters and I could not help becoming emotionally involved. I should have been obliged to make some change if only for her health's sake. I am now very pleased with the result. In Dresden, well cared for, among old acquaintances and artistic pleasures, my wife is already much better, and no doubt the best of all is that my intercourse with her from a distance is something quite different and more beneficial than, with the best intentions, I was able to make it when I was beside her. I can now choose time and mood in which to speak to her and correct her (till quite recently) constantly recurring passionate outbursts, and in this way have succeeded so well that she has really begun to grow calmer. [...]
I will tell you about myself and my probable future another time. Besides, for the present there is practically nothing to be said—especially as regards my future. I am working sedulously to finish my Tristan. Unfortunately the work has been repeatedly interrupted by illness. The same ailment which keeps me from my desk has forced me to break off in the midst of this letter. [...]
You will probably wonder why I have chosen Venice (which impressed you so unfavourably on your journey through it) as best adapted for my present needs. I tried to find a place where I could live quite unnoticed and secluded and work entirely undisturbed. [...]
For to-day please be content with these few lines, and to give my very kindest regards to your dear wife, your son and to my friends Bohm, Hagenbuch and Müller when you see them. If you should some time visit the Wesendoncks do not forget to give them news of me and convey my best greetings. [...]
Finally, accept the assurance, dearest friend, that I do not abandon either the hope or the effort to repay some day the great sacrifice you made for me. Wholly without means and without any assured income, I am now more than ever thrown back on the uncertain profits on my operas, which, for me, have the character of lottery winnings. Still, it is not inconceivable that things may change very definitely in this respect and you may believe my sincere assurance that I shall joyfully take advantage of the first favourable change to effect a definite and secure establishment of my affairs and show my recognition and gratitude to you, even if I can do no more than replace what was lent me and—as I know—practically written off.
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner, Vol. 2, selected and ed. Wilhelm Altmann, trans. M. M. Bozman (J. M. Dent & Sons, 1927), No. 379