Well, my dear Mienel, I've only 6 more concerts to conduct! —
From my rosy paper, for that matter, you may judge that I'm in better humour than last week. Merely, I am frightfully knocked up and tired to-day, and can undertake nothing beyond writing to you. True, I'm hoping for a letter from yourself tomorrow; but it would be disgraceful if I kept you waiting, and didn't write you straight off on the success of our yesterday's concert. Everything went quite well, and particularly the pieces from Lohengrin, which were played by the band with great affection and extraordinarily finely. But I'll tell you my tale seriatim.
The first part began with the Freischütz overture (which I hadn't chosen, though). It made such an impression, that it was demanded "da capo" at once; so, having experienced how ill it was taken of me at Zurich that I didn't promptly respond, I laid the good lesson to heart and let the overture be played a second time: for which I also had the special reason, that I wasn't absolutely satisfied with the first execution, and might look for a still better rendering the second time (which was different at Zurich, where I feared it wouldn't go so well again the second, as the first time). To wind up the first part came Lohengrin. Now, you must try and realise what opinion of my compositions had hitherto been foisted on the people here, namely that they were a mass of crazy stuff; so everybody was on the tiptoe of anticipation as to what particular sort of nonsense one was going to get: not a breath was to be heard. Gradually the prelude of the Holy Grail with its softness and sublimity seemed to transport these people to quite another region: it was admirably played — as said — and so really seemed to make a deep impression; long after the last faint tones had died away, all remained still as a mouse, as if at church, till at last came quite a hearty outburst of applause, which after the bridal procession, and finally after the wedding-music and bridal chant, mounted to a regular storm, so that I had to strew my obeisances between the desks on the platform for a considerable time in no little embarrassment. Naturally the orchestra joined in with great uproar, and when I reached the conversation-room the Directors received me with the heartiest delight; whilst my friend Sainton almost burst for joy. —
With the second part, the Ninth symphony, a little reaction almost set in; as it nearly always happens to my compositions, perhaps for simple reason of their colouring, that they somewhat weigh on what comes next. Still, I kept fresh — by dint of the utmost exertion — and so did the orchestra, and the performance pleased me after all; the chorus also did its best in the end, and only the soloists were good for nothing. Again the orchestra rendered me its enthusiastic thanks for having laid open this work to it, and many features in the execution convince me that I and my method have already made a great impression on the bandsmen. Friend Publicus did not quite seem to catch the drift, and when the thing was drawing to its close, the glorious custom of quitting the room during the music asserted its right; so that I was half inclined to think the symphony had failed, if I hadn't at once been assured that this work had never yet appealed here (in spite of belief on Authority!) and had relatively had a great success this time. Be that as it may, at 10 this morning Herr Benecke came driving up, to testify — among other things — that people here had never understood the symphony before, and only through this extraordinary performance had an understanding of it been opened to connoisseurs themselves; but no one, also, had ever heard it given that way. Regarding my own compositions, they had decidedly had a complete and general success, and everybody was astonished at its being even possible to trump up such nonsense about such "splendid" music as had been done here in the newspapers. —
I must tell you a few comical traits, as they are characteristic of the people here. After the Lohengrin a local connoisseur, Salomon, expressed himself thus: "Devil take it, they say the fellow's nothing but a 'Humbug,' yet you can see with half an eye there's genius here!" During the Freischütz overture two musical gentlemen were sitting in front of Klindworth; at first they kept nudging each other: at the Adagio they shook their heads: "Too slow"; at the Allegro, "Too fast" — then, "Why slow again?" — at last they held their peace a long while, till suddenly the one exclaimed, "By thunder, but it's really capital!" and finally the pair applauded most enthusiastically and called "da capo!" — Then, an old gentleman had brought the score of the Ninth symphony with him, and he and his wife religiously followed the performance in it without moving a muscle; finally comes the last tempo of all, he slams the book, and makes straight with his wife for the door; so that it looked just as if he had been spelling it all out to know the exact point of time one must be off to escape the crowd. —
You see, my bad temper has cleared up into irony: I smile more at these people now, than let them vex me, but hold of course to my opinion that it remains a hollow business with the public proper; single very warm and sincere protestations of friendship have to indemnify me for what I really have faith in no longer. Before the last rehearsal, however, I had grave fears about the performance, and on Saturday I made an awful victim of myself to be rid of those fears. I had ordered the chorus alone, with piano, for 9 in the morning: after screaming myself hoarse — with my eternal sore throat — at 11 began my band rehearsal, which lasted until half past 3. Imagine the condition in which I reached home! Still, I had won hope in return for my exertions, and that gave me better humour; which finally has buoyed me up till now, when, although fearfully tired, I yet am writing, as you see, with cheerful calm.
I took Klindworth home with me after yesterday's concert; we consumed 2 dozen oysters, cold cutlets, and washed them down with a bottle of wine — till 2 o'clock. Did I think of home the while?? Dear child, it stays my solitary hope, that the thing may come to end here and I return at last to my familiar country; for that is Zurich to me now, my house, my friends, my animals — and — yes, I must tell it you — my good old, first-rate, thorough-bad — I meant to say, dear Wife — more than ever! Well, I shall try to keep on end till then, as I see very well it's a matter of sticking to my post this time, even if it strictly is not my right post. — Whatever else I might have had to write to you, I'll make good tomorrow or the next day if I shall have received another letter from you; I have plenty more to report: to-day it has been merely the last concert. Let me hope my present letter will be agreeable to you; if it contributes a little to cheering you up, and thus to making your thorny life a wee bit pleasant, it will heartily rejoice me.
Farewell for to-day, then, dear Muzius, be comforted and hold dear
Thy very good Husband.
A thousand greetings to all! I shall shortly send journals and programme (also of the last symphony — in English).
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 80