[...] I am slowly getting better, and—I will admit it now—from a serious illness. [...] I really thought I should succumb this time. [...]
I got my first piece of good news—from myself! The proofs of the third act of Tristan suddenly arrived. You will be able to feel with me how the sight of this last completed work revitalised me, strengthened me, filled me—threw me into raptures. Surely a father can scarce feel such joy at the sight of his child! In a flood of tears—why disown the weakness?—a voice within me cried, "No! You are not finished yet—you have still to bring your work to an end. The man who has just created such a work as this is still full to overflowing!" [...]
After that, a very melancholy task of love fell to my lot. I suddenly heard of the mortal illness of my dear fatherly Fischer, in Dresden, [...] and then came news of his death. [...] In the last few days I have composed a memorial work to the dear fellow. [...]
The workmen are still in the house; these Parisians are only at home in your home. My little flat is at last in order. If you were to walk in, you would almost believe you saw me still in my "Asyl." The same furniture, the old desk, the same green carpets, engravings—everything just as you knew them. Only the rooms are smaller, and I have had to economise space. [...]
A few days ago I was invited to a musical soirée, where sonatas, trios, etc., of Beethoven's latest period were played. Both interpretation and execution displeased me very much and I shall not be caught again so soon. Still, I had some experiences. I sat down by Berlioz, who immediately introduced to me the composer Gounod, who was seated next to him—a pleasant-looking man with sincere aspirations; but I think not a very highly gifted artist. The moment it became known that I was there, all the world pressed round Berlioz to be introduced to me—an astonishing throng of enthusiasts who have studied my scores without understanding German. It often puzzles me exceedingly. I am afraid now of having many visitors, and must be on my guard somewhat. Up to now I have neglected young Mme. Charnacé shamefully. [...]
I am reading Liszt's Gipsy Music—something too high-flown and rhetorical; still, the vigorous presentation of the gipsy nature (unmistakably the Shandalas of India) has brought Prakriti (or Savitri) very vividly again to my mind. [...]
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner, Vol. 2, selected and ed. Wilhelm Altmann, trans. M. M. Bozman (J. M. Dent & Sons, 1927), No. 446