O you hasty, unjust, mistrustful, in a word — bad woman!
It is quite in the order of things that you should write me very often, since you are reaping experiences and — even if unimportant — they give you something fresh to relate, were it no more than how you fare upon your wanderings. But if I bring it off seldomer, it is purely since I'm reaping no experience at all, everything continues in the same old groove, and with the best will I've nothing to report to you, consequently the utmost I can do is to attest my satisfaction if I learn from you that you are feeling well. In my very last letter I could really tell you almost nothing but about the dog and bird: nothing else occurs to me. My life is running on completely inwardly, you see; and with me that finds its fittest record in my works. I am purely a worker; if I don't or cannot work, I feel unwell, and my thoughts keep hankering after work again.
For that matter, I haven't had much mood for composition all this month; I have finished the fair copy of the Rheingold score instead, to get that altogether off my hands at last: Liszt will receive the whole of it shortly. Only now have I resumed the second act of Walküre; yesterday when I got your somewhat mistrustful letter, I was on the point of composing Fricka's entry; it wasn't at all a bad match. You consider, though, that I'm working all this out for no one but myself: it may turn out so, too — and yet I'd rather cease to live, than not be working at a thing like this. So you must grant me just this sort of work; for the Leipzig market and so forth, once and for all, I shall compose nothing more. Others enough are attending to that. —
So — what am I really to write to you of? I have absolutely nothing to tell you of myself, saving that late in the afternoon I take my lonely walk, and then come home again, or look in for a moment at Wesendonck's first. There you have all. The household otherwise is going on quite regularly; I have nothing to complain of.
Believe me, the only thing to interest me, is how you are entertaining yourself (in place of me). I can easily understand the Chemnitz visit having put you somewhat out of humour on the whole. The whole first part of your holiday has been spent in none but small surroundings, and perhaps you're wondering why? The more sensible of you to have gone straight to Berlin now; from our Switzerland one should only go to a very big city, as that affords the sole true contrast, whereas everything else is bound to appear very tame. But you are sure to be in clover now, with the good Frommann; I am firmly convinced she'll devise all manner of ways of distracting you. Besides, she's on the most intimate footing with every princess in the world; so I take it for granted she'll make you acquainted with some of them, and once you're at Court, probably you will soon forget our Switzerland and Zeltweg. I also have written to Liszt and Schmidt in your behalf; they are to let you know direct, if a performance is taking place with them, that you may arrange your return journey accordingly. They're to write you to Leipzig (c/o Avenarius); that will be quickest, as the information would have gone too roundabout a road if it had come through me. Doubtless you won't be staying long in Berlin, as you want to be at Leipzig again the beginning of October for Röschen's debut; consequently I have told Schmidt you might get to Frankfort about the middle of October. — Schindelmeisser has written me a deal again about the representation of Lohengrin at Darmstadt: now, that lies on the straight road from Frankfort to Basle; so, if it might interest you to see the Lohengrin there (perhaps for a comparison with Frankfort), you would have to write me to that effect forthwith, and maybe I could arrange for you to witness that as well. Schindelmeisser would be highly delighted, of course. —
Now, dear Muzius, under Alwine's lead make it your foremost care to feel quite happy. A thorough refreshing of yourself for once is the main object of your journey; therefore, wherever you do not feel comfortable, you must leave at a moment's notice, and preferably return to the Zeltweg and your good husband. — All send best love; on your side, give the good Frommann my cordial greetings, be merry and — calm: you can be — and return in sound health! —
Farewell, good old Wife — and — na, you know all that.
Thy R.
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 71