I really must let you into a most comical discovery which I have only just made. It suddenly appears to me as if all the trouble with my work reposed on hypochondria. Everything I have dashed off looks so shockingly bad to me, that I lose all zest, and refuse to go farther. To-day I forced myself to work clean out a passage from the sketch which had so displeased me of late that I believed I must wholly recast it. Nothing better had occurred to me, however, and I was so wretched about it that I thought of giving up, and so on. Finally — in my despair — I fair-copied the passage out to-day, leaving it precisely as in the sketch, save for correction of a few small trifles here and there; I try it over to myself, and — behold you, I find it so good, that I was unable to improve it for that very reason. — Isn't that laughable? — And yet it's ill, for the very happening of this hypochondria is proof enough that something isn't as it should be. I simply cannot prevail on myself to take a thing I have rapidly sketched and render it to myself with warmth and expression. God knows, I'm so entirely the reverse of frugal reserve, that in communication I gladly go beyond all bounds. Yet I also know that I've often had to rue my precipitance in imparting my sketches to outsiders with whom I had no sympathy, and whence I consequently never drew the proper warmth for my own lively grasp of my subject; wherefore I have frequently sworn to do it no more. Now that is avenging itself, and I no longer arrive at making friends with my inspirations at all. However, I'll take a lesson from to-day's experience, and see that I'm not so mistrustful of my drafts another time. That way I shall end by becoming quite flighty, and carrying out the first thing that crops up in my head! —
Enough: for to-day I would rather say no more to you. I'll write you a sensible letter by and by, when I can get hold of other paper than this coquettish pink which the elegant Schweizerhof has purveyed to me. — Even if the weather were quite propitious, I couldn't go up the Rigi to-morrow, as I have had to resort to a medical conference, in result whereof I am Rigi-unfit for some days.
Kindest regards. Keep my birthday for me; I make you a present of it. Consequently — I congratulate!
R. W.
After work!
Source: Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, trans. William Ashton Ellis (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1905), No. 77