Ah, you good Wife, what a wonderfully fine letter you've written me! The only pity is, I have to reply to it this way, and cannot thank you for it verbally to-day, as you supposed. Your letter, my dear Mietz, has only this moment reached me, namely Sunday noon, 11.30; so you've been hopelessly out with your post time: it leaves Zurich at 8 in the morning, and there is none after; therefore, if you want a letter to reach me the same day, it must be at the post by 7 A.M. at latest, or else it will remain there all day and not go off until next morning. So look a little sharper, next time you want your dear good husband with you on a Sunday! —
The weather is too atrocious! As it was fine on Friday, I had fully expected it to be so to-day, and consequently never entertained the possibility of not seeing you here. Even with this bad weather, moreover, for a time I was uncertain whether you wouldn't come after all; which I should have regretted, all the same, for your sake. Had I been perfectly sure, probably I should have set forth myself in spite of it; quite certainly, if I had received your letter time enough. — The only thing now is to console oneself and do better next time: we'll write that up behind our best ears, won't we? —
For the rest, I conclude from your letter that you haven't got poorlier; though it would have been more of a satisfaction if you had told me so expressly. Much as I am looking forward to seeing you in the new apartments, still I fancied we had settled, that — in case nothing happened — you would be paying me a visit here first. Now let us put that quite straight for next Sunday, and this way: if the weather is fine, you will come out to me unconditionally — with friends or without; only if it's bad weather, shall I come in to you. —
How glad I am that you are seeing "human animals" again, and are pleased with the new abode in general. It's very tedious here; of an evening I play whist with Müller and Karl. I'm contented with the cure, however; to-day in particular I am feeling quite brisk, and of a morning I can scarcely wait for my cold bath. Only I have to be very strict about a thing I never knew before: no matter my appetite, I'm not to eat too much; this large appetite — which is certainly better than none at all — has really become morbid, since I suffer from indigestion as a rule, and on that ground have to moderate it much: if I control myself in this respect, I always feel better afterwards. But on that another time. —
Now one thing more, dear Minna. Please get yourself a pretty bird-cage made (a wicker stand with flowers &c.) just like the one you had in Dresden. I am buying a pair of canaries — male and female — which I should like you to have. It was a singular chance, in a certain sense a lucky chance (I'll tell you all about it by mouth), my meeting the man with the dicky-birds on my stroll down the road; I thought of you at once, and how it would delight you if I took them off him for you. So write me what you think — for I can still cancel the purchase if need be — and should you care for it, then order the bower at once. —
Time's up: I mustn't write more at one sitting. I have no further news from anywhere as yet, not even the money from Schwerin, but already have written about that. I shall have enough for this Monday, and expect to get that money before the Monday after. — Has Peps made himself at home in the new dwelling? — Now farewell, dear good Wife; be sure that your letter delighted me greatly to-day. Accept my thanks for it, and keep fond of
Your good Waterman.
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 39